


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


ftt. 

Shelf 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 





r 


-4 

















14 

1 


0 




( 


* • ^ 




i 



• 4 


i; 


i 



.i 

y 


• •< 

‘A' 



'ij 





I 




"THE DO SOCIETY;" ■ 

♦ * 

The Three Cousins. 



By Mrs. 6, B, Howard. 

—• — is 5 — ^ 


“ Lord, what wilt thou have me to do? ” — St. Paul. 

“She hath done what she could.” — J esus Christ. 

“This is the maximum of duty, modified by the nature of the 
opportunity.” — D r. Lovicic Pierce. 


NASHVILLE, TENN.: 

Southern Methodist Publishing House. 


Sunday-school Depart.ment. 

1 888. 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1887, 

By the Book Agents of the Methodist Episcopai. Chdbch, South, 
in the Oflice of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 


/I- 


EDITORIAL NOTE. 


The author of this entertaining little book has furnished, 
in the course of a pleasant story, much valuable counsel to 
young Christians wishing to do good, but at a loss how to 
begin or what to do. ‘’The Do Society” will furnish 
suggestions and many instructive illustrations to guide 
such persons. In every page the Saviour is honored, and 
in every lesson true religion and sound morality are taught. 

We send the volume forth with the assurance that it will 
be read wdth pleasure; and we pray that it may prove as 
profitable as pleasing to the reader. 

W. G. E. CUNNYNGHAM, 

Sunday-school Editor. 


Nashville, Tenn., August, 1887. 


( 3 ) 


* 4 * 



■ 


r 



< 1 


f 


I 

» f 


t 


% 

I 


• A 








# 

I 


% 


A 


\ 



% 


\ 

r 


^ \ 


• I V 




> 1 f 


.-V 

• • 


f 




% 








I 


A < • r 


• > 


/ 

** < .' 



V 

% 



I 

> • ■• I 




t 


‘I 

» 


s 


I 










■ 





« 4 


» 

«» 



I 




< 




j- 


4 


s 


4 


. • • 



I i 


$ 


I 



% 



I 









« 


t 


♦ 


ft 


I 


ft 





ft 


ft 


ft 


\ 






» 


I 


A 


k 


ft 


I 


4 


« 






t 




ft 


I 





CONTENTS. 


Chapter I. Garnering the Precious Sheaves 7 

Chapter II. Three Consecrated Hearts 15 

Chapter III. End of a Delightful Visit 23 

Chapter IV. One of the Separated Cousins 36 

Chapter V. Beginning the Good Work 44 

Chapter VI. Another of the Three Cousins 53 

('hapter VII. Sequel of a Railway Accident 58 

Chapter VIII. The Third of the Cousins 68 

Chapter IX. A Sufferer’s Holy Mission 80 

Chapter X. Continuance in Well-doing 89 

Chapter XI. Results of Christian Effort 100 

Chapter XII. Organizing a Sunday-school 108 

Chapter XIII. Ministering in Love to Others 117 

Chapter XIV. Still Improving Opportunities 129 

Chapter XV. Busy Sowers and Reapers 143 

Chapter XVI. Preparing to Build a Church 158 

Chapter XVII. Turning-point in a Life 171 

Chapter XVIII. Dedication of Ebenezer Church.. 181 

Chapter XIX. Passing Under the Shadows 192 

Chapter XX. Saved by Personal Influence 208 


( 5 ) 



“The Do Society;” 

OR. THE THREE COUSINS. 

CHAPTER I. 

GARNERING THE PRECIOUS SHEAVES. 

T here had been a blessed revival in the village 
of E. for three weeks. The earnest young pas- 
tor had entered upon his year’s work with loviug 
zeal. From the first sermon he preached, his con- 
gregation felt that the weight of souls was upon his 
heart; that he realized his position as ‘‘ a watchman 
unto the house of Israel,” and was resolved, by 
God’s help, to “blow the trumpet and warn the 
people,” and thus “ deliver his own soul.” He had 
faithfully performed his duty; he had diligently 
prepared the soil; he had prayerfully sown the 
seed; he had relied upon Him who giveth the in- 
crease ; and when he deemed the field white to the 
harvest he had requested his aged father, an old 
and successful laborer, to come and aid him in gar- 
nering the precious sheaves. 

It had been a season of such rich and glorious 

( 7 ) 


8 


The Do Society.' 


blessing upon old and young, saint and sinner, resi- 
dents and “ strangers within their gates,” as none 
had ever before experienced, or ever would forget. 
And now the last meeting was being held — a chil- 
dren’s meeting it was called, though many adults 
were present — for Dr. Morton’s great, loving heart 
went out to the lambs of the flock, and, yearning 
over them -with wise and tender interest, he longed 
before parting to feed them once more with the “ sin- 
cere milk of the word, that they might grow thereby.” 

It was a bright summer afternoon; the church 
was full, and happy faces grew brighter as the clear 
)"oung voices rung out their joyous hosannas upon 
the vibrant air. Wave after wave of melody float- 
ed out of the open windows, attracting the attention 
of the distafat passers-by, and ascending heaven- 
ward in sweeter, more acceptable fragrance than 
ever rose the spice-laden incense of temple sacri- 
fice in ancient J udea ; for it ascribed praises, thanks- 
giving, and love to the “ Lamb that was slain and 
lives again to intercede for men.” 

Song followed song. Dr. IMorton could not rouse 
himself to speak. With his gray head thrown back 
and resting upon his chair, and a smile of unspeak- 
able joy lighting his face, his eyes rested upon 
first one and then another of the young creatures 
before him. He was personally acquainted with 
each one, and their fears and hopes had all been con- 
fided to him ; and as he saw the beaming glance of 


Garnering the Precious Sheaves. 9 


happiness, the quivering lip or the trickling tear, 
and heard in many cases the lisping accents of the 
little ones, he felt that truly “of such is the king- 
dom of heaven.” 

And now the sweetest, simplest chorus of all 
trembles on their tongues: 

“ O how I love my Saviour, 

O how I love my Saviour, 

O how I love my Saviour, 

Because he first loved me!” 

“Out of the mouths of babes has he perfected 
praise ! ” ejaculated Dr. Morton, turning to his son, 
whose tears of ecstasy were raining through his 
clasped fingers, as with head bowed upon his hands 
he felt that life could not contain for him greater 
bliss than the consciousness of having aided in 
“ folding ” these tender lambs. 

But Dr. Morton is speaking. “ My dear children,” 
he said, “ my beloved little ones, my time is short. 
I leave you to-night, and the afternoon advances 
apace. It was hard for me to rise, and thus cause 
your sweet songs to cease. To be here, and to listen 
to them, has been a foretaste of heaven to my 
soul. But we are not in heaven yet; we are on 
earth, and on earth the most of you will remain for 
many years to come; and, while I want you all to 
live so as to get to heaven at last, I wish, in this 
my parting talk, to tell you how to live while you 
are upon the earth. It has been very sweet to sit 


10 


“The Do Society.” 

here and sing God’s praises. Doubtless the angels 
have listened with delight, for they know each one 
of you who has repented of sin. AVe are told 
‘there is joy in the j^resence of the angels of God 
over one sinner that repenteth.’ Then, is it not rea- 
sonable to suppose that the songs of happy, pardoned 
sinners afford them pleasure also? Yea, verily. 
But, my beloved, there is that which will give them 
still greater joy. There is that which will more 
please the great God himself. You have been sing- 
ing his praises, but it is best pleasing in his sight 
to do his will, Kemember that solemn declaration 
that fell from Jesus’ lips : ‘ Not every one that saith 
unto me. Lord, Lord, shall enter into the king- 
dom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my 
Father which is in heaven.’ And again: ‘Why 
call ye me Lord, Lord, and do not the things 
which I say?’ So, right and pleasant though it be 
to sing God’s praises, yet we should remember it is, 
as it were, but the refreshment by the way ; for to 
live to God’s praise is better. You have but begun 
the Christian warfare, my little ‘soldiers of the 
cross.’ There are ‘foes for you to face.’ You 
‘ must fight if you would reign.’ You must not 
expect to be ‘ carried to the skies on flowery beds 
of ease; ’ but instead you must ‘own His cause and 
speak His name’ without fear or blushing. The 
service of song is sweet ; the service of labor, of ac- 
tion, should be sweeter. The great St. Paul, as 


Garnering the Precious Sheaves. 11 


soon as he heard the voice of Jesus issuing from 
the blinding light which had stricken him to the 
ground, exclaimed, ‘ Lord, what wilt thou have me 
to do?* And this has been the inquiry of every 
earnest converted soul to this day. My dear young 
friends, I beseech you, every one here present, to 
ask 3 '^our dear Lord the same question. K asked 
aright, an answer will surely come. 

And the least you do for Jesus 
Will be precious in his sight. 

The smallest child in this room can work for Jesus, 
and can lead another to his arms. Let that be 
your aim, my beloved; let not one of you ‘empty- 
handed* before the Master stand. 0 that each 
of you may have a starry crown ! To this end let 
St. Paul’s question be adopted by you daily and for 
life; let it lead you to study your own individual 
responsibility: ‘Lord, what wilt thou have me to 
do?* You have just sung with ardor, ‘Ohow I 
love my Saviour! * Why? * Because he first loved 
me.* Dear children, think a moment of what that 
means. How did our precious Saviour show and 
prove that love for us? You well know; but the 
old, old story is told so feelingly in this little poem 
by one who did much for her Master, and who is 
now entered into rest,* that I will read it to you. 
At its close, let all who desire to do all they can 


*Miss Frances R. Havergal. 


12 


“The Do ISociety.’' 

for their Lord, to devote their lives to active serv- 
ice, aud to give themselves to him who gave him- 
self for them, kneel in prayer that God will accept 
the offering. The poem was w^ritten after gazing 
upon a picture of our Saviour, under w’hich was 
placed this motto : ‘ I did this for thee ! What hast ' 
thou done for me?’ 

I gave my life for thee, 

My precious blood I shed, 

That thou mightst ransomed be. 

And quickened from the dead ; 

I gave my life for thee — 

What hast thou given for me-f 

My Father’s house of light, 

My glory-circled throng 

I left for earthly might. 

For wanderings sad and lone; 

I left it all for thee — 

Hast thou left aught for me? 

I suffered much for thee. 

More than thy tongue can tell, 

Of bitterest agony. 

To rescue thee from hell ; 

I Fve borne it all for thee — 

' What hast thou home for me? 

And I have brought to thee, 

Down from my home above. 

Salvation full and free, 

4 My pardon and my love; 

I bring rich gifts to thee — 

What hast thou brought to me? 


Garnering the Precious Sheaves. 13 


0 let thy life be given, 

Thy years for me be spent, 

World-fetters all be riven, 

And joy with suflering blent; 

1 gave myself for thee — 

Give thou, thyself to me / ** 

Slowly and with inimitable pathos did Dr. Morton 
read this hymn ; and as he read, its influence sunk 
deep into many a young heart, and resolves were 
made, earnest and far-reaching, the total outcome 
of w hich the great day alone can reveal. 

Quietly and wdth silent reverence did the large 
company sink upon their knees, while their leader 
gave voice to their aspirations and consecration. 
** Teach us to do thy willy O Lord,” he said ; ‘‘ enable 
us to delight to do thy will, O our God, so that at 
last it may be said unto each of us, ‘ Well done, thou 
good and faithful servant; enter thou into the joy 
of thy Lord,’” 

Then came the apostolic benediction, sinking 
into each heart like the gentle dew of heaven, and 
afterward the long and lingering parting. 

The saintly minister, his silvery locks framing 
a face as loving as St. John’s must have been, re- 
peated the beloved disciple’s charge, “Little chil- 
dren, love one another,” as he stroked tlie heads of 
the Avee ones Avho crowded around him — a word 
of cheer to one, of caution to an ther, a pressure of 
tlie hand and a smile to all as they pressed forward, 
till one sweet-faced girl began to sing: 


14 


“The Do Society.” 


“There will be no parting there, 

In heaven above, 

Where all is love, 

There will be no parting there.” 

And as the others swelled the chorus he quietly 
withdrew, thanking God in his inmost heart for the 
harvest in which he had labored, and praying that 
not one soul should fail of being garnered eternal- 
ly above. 


CHAPTER n. 

THREE CONSECRATED HEARTS. 

T O three young hearts the services that summer 
afternoon were fraught with intense interest. 
No more earnest resolves had been made, no more 
entire consecration or higher aspirations were felt, 
than thrilled the souls of the three girls who sat so 
quietly listening to Dr. Morton’s inspiring words. 

Ella Glover, Annie Cooper, and Rosy Lester 
were first cousins, and aged respectively sixteen, 
fifteen, and fourteen years. Tenderly attached, yet 
living far apart, they seldom were together, and so 
esteemed it a i:)eculiarly happy circumstance that on 
this occasion of reunion they each had passed 
through similar experiences of conviction, contri- 
tion, and conversion. Together they had wept in 
sorrow for sin at the beginning of the meeting ; to- 
gether they had relied on Jesus alone for pardon ; 
and together they had rejoiced with joy unspeak- 
able as each felt his whisper in her heart: 
“Daughter, be of good cheer; thy sins be forgiven 
thee.” Peculiarly congenial and sympathetic, their 
tastes were almost identical, so it was not surprising 
that they should be similarly impressed by the serv- 
ices which had just closed. 


( 15 ) 


16 


‘*The Do Society.” 


Ella Glover lived in the village, and her cousins, 
from widely different surroundings and distant 
points, had spent the past month with her and their 
grandmother, with whom she lived. Annie Cooper, 
whose home was in a large city, had during her life 
been surrounded by all the luxury and ease a 
wealthy and indulgent fether could bestow; while 
little Kosy, in a cottage country home, had been 
reared by parents too wise to allow her to be placed 
in a false position by failing to require of her those 
duties necessary in a household where thrift and 
industry were prominent 

As they walked slowly homeward, Elia said: 

Girls, I hope we shall not forget dear Dr. Mor- 
ton’s talk, nor the resolutions it has caused us to 
make. For ray part, I have never felt more de- 
termined to be a true Christian, and as he spoke to 
us I felt that I could not be a true Christian un- 
less I was a working Christian.” 

“ So did I, Ella,” replied Annie. “ I intend to 
adopt, I have resolved to adopt, as the motto of my 
life the inquiry of St. Paul, just as he advised us. 
I feel sure that the Lord will give me something to 
do for him.” 

“ You may well say so, Annie! ” exclaimed Rosy. 
“You have a better chance than either Ella or I to 
do good. You live in a large city, where there are 
always opportunities for being useful ; where there 
are so many poor people, for instance ; and your far 


Three Consecrated Hearts. 


17 


ther is rich, and never denies you any thing, so you 
will be able to gratify every prompting of your 
heart in their behalf. I almost envy you your po- 
sition now, though I never did before.” And Rosy 
thought of her humble cottage home, where all her 
life she had been as happy as the day was long, and 
quickly added, with loyal warmth; “Not that I 
would exchange my own dear home for any other 
on earth, but I do not see what I can find to do 
for Jesus,” and her voice reverently softened, “ with 
my surroundings and opportunities.” 

“ Don’t talk that way, little cousin,” hastily in- 
terposed Ella, who, as the eldest of the trio, pos- 
sessed decided influence over the others. “ Remem- 
ber, Dr. Morton said the smallest child in the room 
could work for Jesus and lead another to his arms. 
I think your opportunities are equal to Annie’s, if 
not greater, for you are the eldest sister in your 
family. Only think of the influence you can exert 
over your brothers and sisters.” 

With blushing cheeks and sparkling, tear-be- 
dewed eyes, Rosy exclaimed: “O how could I 
forget! I see! I see! Thank you, dear Ella. 
‘ Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do ! ’ I know my 
hand can find a great deal to do at home, and I 
will try to do it with my ‘ might.’ O if I can be 
the means of helping Harry to be a Christian, and 
Lucy, and precious little Frank, my crown will be 
a ‘starry’ one; will it not, Ella?” 

2 


18 


The Do Society.” 


Her cousin’s arm stole around the young enthu- 
siast’s waist, as, "with quivering lip, she said: “I 
•wish I had little brothers and sisters to lead to Je- 
sus; but I am all alone. However, God knows 
best, and you recollect Dr. Morton’s text last Sun- 
day: ‘Whosoever shall do the will of my Father 
which is in heaven, the same is my brother, and sis- 
ter, and mother.’ I will try to have a claim to 
that relationship by seeking to know and do my 
Father’s will.” 

There was silence for a few moments, and the 
young girls walked slowly on. Annie had not spo- 
ken. Her thoughts had traveled to her brother 
and sister, both older than herself, and she won- 
dered if she could ever do them good. They both 
needed the Saviour she had found, she knew, for the 
former was gay and reckless, and the latter a heart- 
broken young widow, whose butterfly existence of 
a fashionable society belle had, in a brief transition 
through a happy honey-moon, been plunged into 
the gloom of a sorrow, without a ray of Christian 
hope or comfort to illumine its darkness. 

Presently Posy’s dear accents interrupted the 
thoughts of her companions : “ What hymn contains 
the lines quoted by Dr. Morton this afternoon? 

And the least yon do for Jesus 
Will be precious in his sight. 

Ella, you have the hymn-book, can you find it?” 


Three Consecrated Hearts. 


19 


“I think so,” was the reply; and turning the 
leaves, in a moment she handed the open book to 
Annie with a request that she read the verses aloud. 
Annie, who possessed this best of accomplishments 
in a pre-eminent degree, read with great distinct- 
ness and feeling the following hymn : 

Hark! the voice of Jesus crying, 

‘Who will go and work to-day? 

Fields are white and harvest waiting; 

Who will bear the sheaves away?^ 

Loud and strong the Master calleth, 

Kich reward he offers thee; 

Who will answer, gladly saying, 

* Here am I; send me, send me?^ 

“If you cannot cross the ocean. 

And the heathen lands explore. 

You can find the heathen nearer, 

You can help them at your door. 

If you cannot give your thousands, 

' You can give the widow’s mite, 

And the least you do for Jesus 
Will be precious in his sight. 

“If you cannot speak like angels. 

If you cannot preach like Paul, 

You can tell the love of Jesus, 

You can say he died for all. 

If you cannot rouse the wicked 
With the judgment’s dread alarms, 

You can lead the little children 
To the Saviour’s waiting arms. 


20 


“The Do Society.” 


“If you cannot be tlie watchman, 

Standing high on Zion’s wall, 

Pointing out the path to heaven, 

Offering life and peace to all, 

With your prayers and with your bounties 
You can do what Heaven demands — 

You can be like faithful Aaron, 

Holding up the prophet’s hands. 

“ If among the older people 

You may not be ‘apt to teach,’ 

* Feed my lambs,’ said Christ our Shepherd, 

‘ Place the food within their reach.’ 

And it may be that the children 
You have led with trembling hand 
Will be found among your jewels 
When you reach the better land. 

“Let none hear you idly saying, 

‘There is notliing I can do,’ 

While the souls of men are dying. 

And the Master calls for you. 

Take the task he gives you gladly, 

Let his work your pleasure be; 

Answer quickly when he calleth, 

‘ Here am I ; send me, send me ! ’ ” 

“ It is beautiful,” said Ella, “ and seems written 
just for us; does it not?” 

“Girls,” said Annie, “let us agree to begin to 
read the Bible together, although we are separated ; 
that is, let us commence to-night in the New Testa- 
ment and read a chapter night and morning, so as 
to be sure that we are all reading the same words, 


Three Consecrated Hearts. 


21 


and having similar thoughts daily. Of course we 
can read more, or elsewhere, but let us observe our 
agreement faithfully. What do you say?” 

“ Certainly,” replied Ella ; “ we shall be glad to 
do it. It is a sweet thought, and will serve to bind 
us closer together, and make us love and help each 
other more. I am sure to search the Scriptures is 
one of the first things we should do; then we shall 
know what God’s will is, and how to perform it.” 

“ Let us agree also,” said little Rosy, “ to mark 
as we read every verse that tells us what to do. 
We will read more attentively and with greater in- 
terest.” 

“A good idea, little cousin,” answered Annie, 
smiling sweetly; “we will act on that suggestion. 
AVe will form ourselves into a society for mutual 
help and profit ; ajid though we shall be so far apart, 
we can certainly write to each other frequently.” 

“A society! A society! What a nice plan!” 
and Rosy’s black eyes danced with joy ; “ and as 
our object is to do good, let us call ourselves The 
Do Society^ 

“ O Rosy, Rosy ! ” And her cousins laughed mer- 
rily. 

“ AVhat an idea!” exclaimed Annie; and Ella 
shook her brown head in disapprobation as she 
said, “ Quite too undignified ! ” But Rosy, carried 
away with delight at her own thought, was swing- 
ing her hat around by the strings and skipping 


22 


^‘The Do Society.” 


along the path, looking so happy that her cousins 
found themselves relenting even as she spoke. 

“ No, no, girls; please let us name it that. Just 
among ourselves, you know ; no one else need ever 
hear it. ‘ Strictly private and confidential ! ’ ” and 
her glance was so arch, yet pleading, swiftly chang- 
ing into one of earnest seriousness, as she added, “/ 
think the name would be in itself an inspiration!” 
that her cousins could not refuse. And thus was 
organized “ J'Ae Do Society T* 


CHAPTER III. 

• END OF A DELIGHTFUL VISIT. 

E lla glover lived at the extreme edge of 
the village of E, with her grandmother and fa- 
ther, he being the most popular physician in the com- 
munity. Her home was very dear to her, not only 
because it was her birthplace, and she had always 
lived there surrounded by an atmosphere of tender- 
est love, but also because it was so beautiful. Sit- 
uated on a gentle acclivity, and built in a style of 
a past generation, its spacious rooms and lofty ceil- 
ings, its broad veranda and Corinthian columns, 
spoke of a generous hospitality, and hinted of 
many inmates blessed with the comforts of life. 
And this had once been the case; and Ella was 
never happier than when, seated on her grand- 
mother’s knee, she listened to her stories of days 
long past ; of how she came there a happy bride ; 
how, as years glided by, the voices of children 
echoed through the long and lofty halls; how they 
grew to stalwart youth and beautiful maidenhood ; 
how social entertainments gave pleasure to the 
whole country-side; how marriages, one after an- 
other, caused mingled joy and pain, and the old 
homestead was left, and the mother’s heart was sad ; 

( 23 ) 


24 


“ The Do Society.' 


how, alter years of calm content, there ^vas a fu- 
neral, and another and another, and at last the 
crowning stroke, when the lover of her youth and 
husband of so many years bade her farewell and 
“passed on before,” till now, of all that happy cir- 
cle, were left only Ella’s father and the mothers of 
Annie and Rosy. 

Ella had thought when she was younger that no 
Grecian temple could be more imposing than the 
dear old mansion crowning the gentle slope of 
green, with the ancient trees dotting the lawn 
here and there and casting long shadows across its 
velvet surface. When at its rear the setting sun 
lit up the western sky with radiant glow, as she 
stood in the front and gazed on the glory that 
served as a background for the building, to her 
fancy the vision was complete; while on moonlight 
nights her imagination easily transformed the 
white-painted wooden walls into the dazzling mar- 
ble of Carrara. And if her home was her temple, 
it was a fit shrine; for she loved the father and 
grandmother with a passionate devotion. Her 
mother having died when Ella was an infant, she 
had not felt the loss as she would have done but for 
the tender care of her grandmother, who in her well- 
preserved old age, with firm step and active habits, 
still saw to the “ ways of her household,” and super- 
intended Ella’s domestic education as faithfully as 
she had that of her daughters twenty years before. 


End of a Delightful Visit. 


25 


Dr. Glover was wedded to his profession. His 
skill and symj)athy gained for him the confidence 
and love of the entire community. Through the 
rains and snows of winter, or the fervid heat of 
summer, indifferent alike to each, his portly figure 
could be seen in the low-seated buggy familiar to 
all, to which was attached “ old Gray,” a beast so 
sagacious and kindly as to merit and win general 
respect. 

Ella was her father’s pride and joy. From the 
day she had learned her letters at his knee to the 
present he had taken the keenest interest in and the 
closest supervision over her studies. The result was 
what might have been supposed. At sixteen she 
'was as well advanced as if she were several years 
older; and her father contemplated removing her 
from the village academy and guiding her himself 
in a select course of reading and study, for the idea 
of sending her away from him to receive any possi- 
ble advantages whatsoever he could not endure for 
one moment. 

Added to the intelligence and affection of her 
loving guardian was an earnest and pervading 
piety, which all her life had endeavored to induce 
her to seek the happiness she had so recently ob- 
tained. Ella now looked back in wonder at her 
indifference to its influence; but little did she know 
of its power. True, she had obtained the special 
blessing while the revival meeting was in progress. 


26 


The Do Society.' 


but the early and faithful religious training was so 
incorporated with her very being that it would 
affect her throughout life. As she grew older she 
more plainly recognized the fact, and thanked her 
God more earnestly year after year for the gift of 
Christian parents. 

As the three cousins approached the house they 
saw Mrs. Glover sitting in her usual easy-chair on 
the front veranda, enjoying the early twilight 
hour, her fingers engaged rapidly, almost me- 
chanically, with the knitting which was the con- 
stant companion of her quiet moments : a tall and 
stately lady, with her soft, silvery hair still abun- 
dant over a brow on which that “ peace w^hich 
passeth understanding ” seemed to rest. Her gray 
eyes brightened and a sweet smile played on her 
lips as her granddaughters drew near. 

^‘Is she not beautiful, girls?” whispered Ella; 
then aloud : “ Grandmother, I am so sorry you w^ere 
not at the meeting; we had such a happy time.” 

“ I am glad to hear it, dear ; but you know the 
bay mare is lame, and I could not walk so far. I 
hoped your father could have taken me, but he had 
to visit a patient in the country. Come in and tell 
me all about it.” 

Seated at her feet on the broad steps, the girls re- 
lated the incidents of the evening, giving a summa- 
ry of Dr. Morton’s remarks, and ending with an 
account of their homeward walk and talk. 


End of a Delightful Visit. 


27 


“ What do you think, grandmother? Rosy pro- 
poses that we call ourselves Do SodetyJ Is 
not that too odd a name?” asked Ella. 

“ Why, no, my dear,” answered Mrs. Glover, ob- 
serving her youngest granddaughter’s heightened 
color ; “ I like it because of its very simplicity. I 
trust you all may be active and worthy members 
of it. Only remember, my children — always re- 
member not to rely upon yourselves, but ‘ trust in 
the Lord, and do good ; ’ for Jesus said, ‘ Without 
me you can do nothing.’ ” 

Quite absorbed in their subject, none of the little 
group observed Dr. Glover, who had drawn near, 
and, leaning against the fluted column beside them, 
had heard enough of the conversation to under- 
stand its purport He now spoke and said: 
am glad I have overheard you, my dear children, 
for I can give you a thought which has been of 
much service to me for many years, in both my re- 
ligious and professional life. Years ago, as I was 
traveling in Europe, it was my pleasure to leave 
my baggage at some town and unincumbered and 
on foot take short excursions in the neighborhood, 
and thus enjoy the scenery and observe the habits 
and customs of the peasantry, as I could not other- 
wise have done. One lovely summer afternoon I 
was rambling in the northern part of England, 
when I came upon a scene of unexpected and 
surpassing loveliness. After climbing a lofty 


23 


‘‘The Do Society.” 

hill, from whose top glimpses could be had of 
the blue waters of th^ Irish Sea, and the delicious 
salt breezes from its surface swept around me, I 
saw nestling at my feet, as it were, a little hamlet, 
quaint and antique beyond any thing I had yet 
seen in that land of picturesque beauty, I stood 
for a moment gazing with j^leasure on the pict- 
ure, as the slanting rays of the setting sun cast 
a glory on gable and roof and painted spire. Di- 
rectly I descended, and bent my steps to the village 
church through an avenue of tall and tapering 
poplars. Entering the little church-yard, dotted 
thickly with lowly mounds, over which ^vas a man- 
tle of tender grass, with here and there a willow 
waving its graceful boughs, I approached the sacred 
building. Ivy, always so beautifying in its effect, 
hung heavily upon the ancient walls, festooned the 
windows of stained glass, and draped the low, broad 
porch. A little beyond was the parsonage, built in 
the same style. A giant fir-tree stood as a sentinel 
beside it. I i^^used involuntarily to note its uncom- 
mon height. As my eyes were descending to their 
usual level they were attracted and riveted by char- 
acters engraven over the door of the parsonage, at 
the threshold of which I was standing; and this, 
in letters of old Saxon, w^as the legend: 

‘Doe the Nexte Thynge.’ 

The surprise was swallow^ed up in the rush of 
thoughts the motto suggested. To how many of the 


End of a Delightful Visit. 


29 


* rude forefathei-s of the hamlet, each in his narrow 
bed ^ around me, had these words come as an in- 
spiration, as a rule of life, and as a potent factor in 
the exercise of reason and judgment, bequeathing 
to their children influences which molded character 
and biased lives! 

“ I copied the words into my memorandum-book 
and pondered them. Not very long ago I saw in a 
newspaper some verses written by one who had ev- 
idently seen the inscription and been impressed by it. 
Ella, if you will bring me my scrap-book, which lies 
on the library-table, I will read the poetry to you.” 

Ella hastened to get it, and her father, turning 
the leaves, read: 

“Doe the Nexte Thynge. 

“From an old English parsonage, 

Down by the sea, 

There came in the twilight 
A message to me. 

Its quaint Saxon legend, 

Deeply engraven. 

Hath, as it seems to me. 

Teaching for heaven ; 

And on through the hours 
The quiet words sing. 

Like a low inspiration, 

*Doe the nexte thyngeJ 

“ Many a questioning. 

Many a fear, 

Many a doubt 
Hath its guiding here. 


30 


“ The Do Society.” 


• Moment by moment 

Let down from heaven, 

Time, opportunity, 

Guidance are given. 

Fear not to-morrow, 

Child of a King; 

Trust it with Jesus — 

^Doe the nexte thynge/ 

“ Do it immediately. 

Do it with prayer; 

Do it reliantly. 

Casting all care ; 

Do it with reverence, 

Tracing His hand 
Who hath placed it before thee 
With earnest command. 
Stayed on omnipotence. 

Safe 'neath his wing. 

Leave all resultings — 

‘Doe the nexte thynge* 

“ Looking to Jesus, 

Ever serener, 

Working or suffering. 

Be thy demeanor! 

In the shade of his presence, 
The rest of his calm. 

In the light of his countenance 
Live out tliy psalm. 

Strong in his faithfulness, 
Praise liiin and sing; 

Then as he beckons thee, 

‘Doe the nexte thynge? ” 


End of a Delightful Visit. 


31 


But few days now remained of the visit of An- 
nie and Rosy; and while they enjoyed the sports 
and pastimes incident to their age, fine health, and 
animal spirits, they by no means forgot the vows 
they had recently made to their heavenly Father, 
or the compact with each other. Night and morn- 
ing one would read a chapter slowly and reverently 
to the others, while the conversation based upon 
the text would pleasantly and profitably occupy 
them afterward. 

“ I have known the Sermon on the Mount for 
many years,” said Ella. I used to learn and recite 
it to grandmother on Sunday afternoons; but I see 
a newer and deeper, a higher and broader meaning 
in it now than ever before. It is the first time I 
have read it since I have resolved to be guided by 
its precepts. I memorized it before; I study it 
now.” 

“ Yes,” said Annie, “we think over it as we read, 
and wish to understand it.” 

“ Only think of the reward. Cousin Annie,” spoke 
out little Rosy : “ ‘ Whosoever shall do and teach 
these commandments shall be called great in the 
kingdom of heaven.’” 

“ I love to think of the closing verses,” said El- 
la, “ ’^here those who keep ‘ these sayings and do 
them’ are likened to the man whose house with- 
stood every storm, and fell not, ‘ for it was founded 
upon a rock.’ ” 


32 


“ The Do Society; 


“That makes me remember the beautiful picture 
of the young girl clinging to the cross planted upon 
the rock in the midst of the raging waters. Which 
is it called, ‘ Simply to Thy Cross I Cling,' or ‘ Rock 
of Ages? ’ ” asked Rosy. 

“Either is appropriate,” answered Ella, “but 1 
believe I prefer the former. I agree with you in 
admiring that picture ; it is as suggestive as it is 
beautiful.” 

“ Girls,” interposed Annie, “ have you thought 
of this vei’se? ^Let your light so shine before 
men, that they may see your good works, and glo- 
rify your Father which is in heaven.’ There it is 
plainly told us why we should do good works — so 
as to glorify our heavenly Father.” 

“ I see a very obvious connection between that 
injunction and this, ‘ When thou doest alms, let not 
thy left-hand know what thy right-hand doeth,”’ 
replied Ella with a grave and thoughtful expression. 
“While secrecy is charged upon us on the one 
hand, we are commanded to ‘let our light shine’ 
on the other. The apparent contradiction can be 
easily reconciled, I think; for if we do not seek our 
own praise, or make any display of our good deeds, 
but do them to glorify God, when they ‘ shine be- 
fore men ’ we will not be puffed up, but really 
humbled, and look forward to the time when our 
‘Father, which seeth in secret, shall reward us 
openly.’ ” 


End of a Delightful Visit. 


33 


My favorite verse,’ said Rosy, is, ‘All thiags 
whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do 
ye even so to them.’ I can understand that clearly, 
and my conscience can prompt me when and how 
to act upon it.” 

“ It is well named the ‘ Golden Rule,' ” said An- 
nie ; “ and if we obey that fully, our whole duty in 
regard to our fellow-creatures will be performed.” 

“Well, I am but a little girl, I know,” continued 
Rosy ; “ but I want to live right, and do all I can 
that is right, and I am so glad for this verse we 
have just read: ‘Whosoever shall give to drink 
unto one of these little ones a cup of cold water 
only, in the name of a disciple, verily I say unto 
you, he shall in no wise lose his rew^ard.’ I can 
do that much, I am sure, and may be God will show 
me more.” 

“ Remember, ‘ Do the next thing,’ little cousin,” 
said Ella; “your opportunities are as good as 
ours.” 

And so they talked every day until the last 
evening came, when with arms intertwined they 
slowly walked on the moon-lit piazza, regretting 
their approaching separation on the morrow, and 
wondering when they three should meet again. 

“Children!” came their grandmother’s voice 
from the library window, “ come in to prayers; w^e 
must retire early to-night. Remember, Annie and 
Rosy leave by day-break to-morrow.” 

3 


34 


‘‘ The Do Society.” 


Dr. Glover was seated at the table as they en- 
tered. After the chapter was read Ella took her 
seat at the parlor-organ, and the clear young voices 
blended for the last time in the simply sweet hymn 
of Herbert’s that Dr. Glover had so appropriately 
selected : 

Teach me, my God and King, 

In all things thee to see; 

And what I do in any thing, 

To do it as for thee. 

All may of thee partake: 

Nothing so small can be. 

But draws, when acted for thy sake. 
Greatness and worth from thee. 

If done f obey thy laws, 

E’en servile labors shine: 

Hallowed is toil, if this the cause, 

The meanest work divine. 

In his equally simple prayer the good doctor 
recommended the young people to the guiding, 
guarding care of their heavenly Father, asking 
that, though they were soon to be separated on 
earth, they might be eternally reunited in heaven, 
carrying their sheaves with them. 

In the gray dawn of early day the three cousins 
took a reluctant leave •of each other, the trains 
leaving only a few moments apart; Annie going 
to the north and Rosy to the south. In spite of 
their grandmother’s precautions they were much 


End of a Delightful Visit. 


35 


hurried, and had no time for expressions of regret, 
which indeed had already been spoken repeatedly 
for days before. Hurried kisses, smiles amidst fast- 
falling tears, fluttering handkerchiefs, and the cous- 
ins parted, not knowing when again w’ould meet 
the members of **The Do Society'* 


CHAPTER IV. 

ONE OF THE SEPARATED COUSINS. 

A PLEASANT ride of two hours brought Rosy 
to the little station at which she left the train, 
and where the welcome sight of her young brother 
greeted her. 

“ Harry, O Harry, here I am ! ” she exclaimed, 
thrusting her head from the car-window as the 
train slacked up. The next moment he was by her 
side, his face aglow with pleasure. 

“ Mighty glad you’ve come. Rosy. Seemed like 
you were going to stay for good. Here, give me 
your satchel;” and with an air of importance, 
caused by the feeling that he was in the position of 
his sister’s protector, he bustled about, carefully 
assisted her to alight, and led the w'ay to a buggy 
under the shade of a large tree near by. 

“ How wtII old Romeo looks, Harry ! It is a 
pleasure to ride behind him once more. Do let me 
drive ; I haven’t driven since I left, and I so dearly 
love to. How fat and glossy he is 1 Who attends 
to him now, Harry?” 

“ I have attended to him for the last two weeks,” 
was the reply. 

“And going to school, too ? You have to rise very 
( 36 ) 


One of the Separated Cousins. 


87 


early in the morning, do you not? What made 
youdoit?’’ 

“Well, I’ll tell you. Sunday before last papa 
took Lucy and me to church with him, all the 
way to S. Of course we were delighted, for we so 
seldom go to church. When w'e got there we 
were just as much interested as we could be with 
the services. It w^as a missionary meeting. The 
minister who spoke had lately come from India for 
his health. He had been there a great many years, 
and could not stand the climate any longer.” 

“ What brought him to S., Harry ? ” 

“ O he is a brother of Mrs. Lennox, and is on a 
visit to her, and Mr. Lennox asked him to have the 
meeting.” 

“ Was there a large congregation? ” 

“ Yes, indeed. They had given good notice, and 
the church was crowded. I never was at a mis- 
sionary meeting before. I never had thought of it at 
all, so a real live missionary was a great curiosity 
to me.” 

“And he interested you, you say?” 

“ That he did. At first I expected him to tell us 
how he had been among savages, and how some of 
his party had been eaten by them, and he had 
narrowly escaped, and other thrilling adventures. 
But he told nothing of the kind; he had not been 
among heathen of that sort. He had been in In- 
dia, and told us how they worshiped idols, and re- 


38 


“The Do Society." 


lated so macy interesting things th^t I ^vas sorry 
when he sat down." 

“ Well, but Harry, what has all this to do with 
your currying and rubbing off old Romeo ? " 

“O that is just like me! Ill tell you this time 
sure enough. Mr. Duncan — that is his name — 
told us that he wished to interest us truly in the 
subject, for we could not really pity the poor 
heathen unless we tried to help them. He said 
action should always follow' feeling, and it was the 
duty of every one to do something tow^ard spread- 
ing the gospel in heathen lands. So he asked 
every one present to contribute to that cause, and 
he advised children to earn their money. He said 
it w’as not best to ask our parents for it; that it w'ould 
have a better effect on us if we worked for it, and 
he believed God w’ould be better pleased. That 
set me to thinking what I could do, and coming 
home I asked father to let me attend to Romeo." 

“ I know father consented at once, for Pompey 
did not groom him half as well as you do. But O 
Harry, I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear all 
this; to know that you are doing something for Je- 
sus." And with sparkling eyes and rapid speech she 
told him of the grand revival at E., that had so 
changed the current of her thoughts and feelings, 
of the agreement among her cousins and herself, and 
her great desire to have him and Lucy feel as she 
felt, and enjoy the same pure happiness. 


One of the Separated Cousins. 89 


Harry listened in silence, allowing liis horse to 
walk slowly along, and with his whip mechanically 
tapping the fore wheel of the buggy at its every 
revolution. A love of truth was his distinguish- 
ing characteristic, which, united with an incipient 
taste for legal analysis and argument — the profes- 
“sion above all others which excited his admiration 
and as])irations — caused him to reply ; “ I don’t feel 
as you do. Rosy. I only make this money because I 
feel sorry for the poor heathen, and Mr. Duncan 
interested me. Besides,” he added, with a very posi- 
tive air of conviction, “ I think he is right in say- 
ing ‘ action should follow feeling.’ I am willing to 
prove my pity for them by doing this extra work in 
order to get money to help them ; for Christianity, 
and consequently civilization, will help them, of 
course. But, Rosy, I know I am not prompted by 
the love of Jesus, and I don’t want you to be de- 
ceived in thinking I am.” 

Well, but Buddie,” replied Rosy, tenderly, fall- 
ing into her old childish term of endearment, “ you 
are working for him all the same, even if your 
motive is not as high and pure as it should be ; and 
I hope you will soon love him so much that you 
will do it chiefly for his sake.” 

“ I clearly understand about it. Rosy. My head 
knows it, though my heart may not feel it, I 
know the motive should prompt the action to make 
It d Christian deed. Don’t you remember how 


40 


The Do Society.’* 


mamma read and explained to us the thirteenth 
chapter of First Corinthians the Sunday before 
you left?” 

“ Certainly, Harry ; I know every word you say 
is true, and we must both pray that we may be in- 
fluenced by the Christian love which that chapter 
describes.” 

For a little while neither spoke. Harry tightened 
the reins, touched Romeo with his whip, and drove 
swiftly on. 

“How did Lucy like the missionary’s talk?” 
at last asked Rosy. “ Has she undertaken to make 
money, too? ” 

“ Yes; she gathered all the blackberries mamma 
wished for her jam, and with the money has bought 
a hen, which she calls her * missionary hen.’ She 
is laying, and Lucy is saving the eggs very care- 
fully. Rosy, I think Lucy understands about it 
all, as well as we do, if she is only ten years old. 
She only remembers two lines of a hymn they sung 
that day, but she goes about the house as happy as 
a bird, constantly singing it. I think it is, 

And the least you do for Jesus 
Will be precious in his sight.’’ 

“ The very hymn Ella, Annie, and I admire so 
much. I have the book, and will show it to you. 
You and Lucy are ahead of me, Harry. I was 
thinking on the cars all the way from E. what I 
could do to show myself a worthy member of our 


One of the Separated Cousins. 41 

society, and how I could induce you and Lucy to 
join me in doing good, and now 1 find you both 
already at work. But I am so glad. I must think 
what I can do to make missionary money. We 
can have a box, and put into it all we make. Who 
knows how much it will amount to in the course of 
a year? Now, let me drive again.” 

And so they chattered away, till a turn in the 
road brought them in full view of their pretty cot- 
tage home. 

“ O Harry ! why didn’t you tell me the house had 
been repainted ? How sweet and fresh every thing 
looks!” 

“ We wanted you to have a pleasant surprise, Sis ; 
so we all agreed not to mention it in our letters.” 

‘‘Just look at my beautiful La Marque rose, la- 
den with blooms. I have seen nothing to equal 
that since I left.” 

And now the little watchers on the piazza come 
flying to the gate to meet the returning wanderer, 
and sounding the note of welcome so loud that 
mamma and papa come forth to join them in their 
greetings. Lucy was first to throw her arms around 
her sister’s neck. Then came sturdy Frank, the 
four-year old, proud of his first blouse-waist and 
trousers, calling Kosy’s attention to his emancipa- 
tion from skirts in his first sentences of welcome; 
while she, as soon as kisses had been exchanged 
with her parents, became engrossed with the family 


42 


The Do Society.' 


pet, the baby — taking her from her mother’s arras 
and tossing her in her own, crowing and kicking 
in glee. 

Then every nook and every corner of the house 
and premises were explored with the keen zest of a 
young daughter of the house, who had been absent 
from the scenes of her daily interests for over a 
month. Harry had to show her old Bess’s young 
family of little grunters; the white pig was hers, 
and the spotted one his down to “ Utile runt’’ which 
was the baby’s. Then Lucy carried her behind the 
barn to a sheltered nook, where her ‘‘ missionary 
hen ” had that morning concluded to set; ” and she 
was lifted from the nest by her admiring mistress, and 
her beauties of shape and plumage expatiated upon, 
till little Frank interrupted to beg his sister to go 
with him to look at the little diddles ” swimming 
in the duck-trough, his most especial delight. 

And so the happy day wore away, and it was 
not till the little ones were in bed, and her mother 
sat rocking baby Claude to sleep, that on a cushion 
at her feet Eosy found opportunity to talk to her 
uninterruptedly about her grandmother and cous- 
ins, Dr. Morton and the meeting, and in a few 
broken words told her more fully of what she had 
already written her, and how she had come to her 
mother’s and grandmother’s Saviour, and found 
him to be her Saviour too. 

Then Mrs. Lester rose softly and laid little Claude 


One of the Separated Cousins. 43 


in her crib, and quietly turning the key in the door 
knelt beside her child and thanked God for this 
hour. Often had Rosy heard her mother pray, 
sometimes only with her, and sometimes with all 
her little flock around her ; but she had never heard 
her pray like this, as, with streaming eyes and 
broken voice, she placed her hand upon her head 
and asked God to consecrate her child to his serv- 
ice, to “ prepare her for all that he might be pre- 
paring for her,” and to “keep her from evil.” 
Henceforth she loved her mother as she had never 
done before, and felt that this new tie of Christian 
communion strengthened and made more tender 
their natural bond. 


CHAPTER V. 

BEGINNING THE GOOD WORK. 

A S Rosy awoke next morning the sun w^as just 
peeping through the pink and white draperies 
of her window. For a moment she forgot where 
she was, and almost expected to see her Cousin An- 
nie beside her ; but at a glance she recognized the 
curly head of her little sister, and the next the fa- 
miliar objects around assured her that she was once 
more at her own dear home. 

She remembered now that it was Sunday morning, 
and rising noiselessly, in order not to disturb Lucy, 
she dressed, and after kneeling beside her bed took 
her Bible and went on tiptoe out of the room. Her 
desire was to read her chapter on the quiet piazza 
before the family were astir, and at the same time 
enjoy the sweet breath of the early, dewy morning. 

In regular order she had reached the twelfth 
chapter of Matthew, and as she read of Jesus heal- 
ing the man with the withered hand on the Sabbath- 
day, and how he said, “ It is lawful to do well on 
the Sabbath-day,” she hoped she would find some- 
thing to do for him that bright June Sabbath. 

She thought of Ella, and pictured her at church 
and in the Sunday-school she so loved to attend. 
( 44 ) 


Beginning the Good Woek:. 


45 


She thought of Annie, and supposed she would be 
likewise engaged, while here no Sunday-school or 
church was within their reach. At long intervals 
and on special o ccasions the whole day would be 
spent in the trip, but their father thought it better 
generally to gather his household around him and 
have a simple service at home. Their mother, also, 
would sing and talk with her little ones ; but Rosy 
knew sh§ would miss the pleasant Sunday-school 
she had attended at E., the inspiring effect of num- 
bers, the regular lessons, the stirring songs, and con- 
genial companionship. 

After a fevv moments of musing Rosy entered the 
house and busied hei’self, as was her custom, in va- 
rious domestic duties. The day passed pleasantly 
in the usual manner, and in the afternoon Rosy 
was summoned by Lucy to receive unexpected vis- 
itors. Four girls about her age and younger, the 
daughters of neighboring small farmers, whose op- 
portunities for mental or religious improyement 
were very limited, finding the sacred hours hang- 
ing heavily on their hands, had called to see her in 
order to while away the time. But for an idea that 
had occurred to her in her silent musing that morn- 
ing, Rosy would haine been sorry to have them 
come on Sunday; as it was she was sincerely glad, 
and hardly had greetings been exchanged before 
she proceeded to put her idea into execution. 

“Let us go into the yard, girls; it is so much 


4G 


“The Do Society.” 


pleasanter than in the house.” As all assented, she 
led the way to her favorite spot, under the shade of 
a wide -spreading elm, where the grass grew soft 
and thick. 

Setting the example, she proposed that they 
should sit there and talk. But Eosy soon found 
she was expected to do all the talking, for at pres- 
ent the conversation was restricted to monosyllables 
on the part of her guests. 

Eosy cheerfully accepted the situation, and began 
to tell them of her visit to E., of the Sunday-school 
there, the many pretty motto -cards around the 
walls, the organ blending in the songs of praise as- 
cending from the hearts of the happy children, and 
painted the picture in such brilliant hues that her 
auditors listened with unwearied attention. 

“ I wish we had a Sunday-school here I ” cried De- 
lia Moore, the oldest and brightest of the quartet. 

“So do I,” echoed the next, while the others 
moved their lips in assent, though no sound was 
heard. 

“ Girls,” continued Eosy, “ we have no organ or 
mottoes or lesson papers, but we have the Bible, 
and I have a copy of ‘ Gospel Hymns ; * so we can 
read the Bible and sing, anyhow. What do you 
say to it? Shall we have a little Sunday-school out 
here among ourselves?” 

The girls at once expressed their pleasure at the 
proposition. 


Beginning the Good Work. 


47 


“O Kosy!” cried Lucy, clapping her hands, 
“tell us a Bible story. You don’t know,” she con- 
tinued, turning to their guests, “how nice it is to 
have Rosy tell stories.” 

Lucy was right. Rosy was gifted in that line. 
If she had lived in a community where attention 
was paid to the recitative art, and her powers had 
been cultivated, she would have attracted much ad- 
miration. As it was, her brothers and younger 
sister had no greater pleasure than to listen to her 
“stories.” On Sundays she had held them spell- 
bound with horror while the glittering knife was 
descending upon Isaac’s young breast, or thrilled 
them with a vision of Elijah’s fiery steeds. During 
the week no greater reward could be suggested than 
a tale of giants or fairies or folk-lore. Often had 
Mr. and Mrs. Lester drawn near to listen to these 
graphic descriptions, noiselessly— lest their presence 
should embarrass the young narrator. 

“Begin at the beginning. Sis; tell us about the 
creation ! ” exclaimed Lucy in an ecstasy of expec- 
tation. 

Just then a thought flashed through Rosy’s 
mind, which illuminated and enlarged the idea she 
had had in her early, morning musings, till, like 
Lucy, she could have clapped her hands with joy- 
ful anticipation. Instead of a resolve to instruct 
' her ignorant little neighbors as an occasional op- 
portunity might ofiTer, she would endeavor so to in- 


48 


“The Do Society/^ 


terest them that afternoon that they would come 
again, that her opportunities might be frequent, 
perhaps weekly. 

Yes, she would tell them “stories;” she would 
“ begin at the beginning,” and if the account of the 
creation could entertain them sufficiently, it might 
be they would return next Sunday, and possibly 
bring others with them. So, with a glow at her 
heart as she recollected the promised reward, 
“ Whosoever shall do and teach my commandments 
shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven,” 
she began. 

It was a revelation to her little guests. True, 
they had known it before in a vague way, as if it 
all might have occurred on another planet, and the 
residents on this had no special connection with it; 
but, under Kosy’s skillful rendering, it became new 
and striking. First, the chaotic darkness; then 
the Almighty fiat, when light flashed through the 
gloom ; the separation of the waters ; the appearing 
of the dry land ; the springing grass and herb and 
fruit-tree; the swinging into space of the two great 
lights to rule the day and night, and the twinkling 
stars ; the flying fowl and swimming fish, and com- 
ing forth of cattle, beast, and creeping thing ; and 
finally the vivid panorama ended in the creation 
of man and of woman, and God prctmuncing it very 
good and resting from his labors on the blessed 
seventh day. 


Beginning the Good Work. 


49 


Then she gave an account of the lovely garden ; 
the beguiling serpent; the yielding to temptation of 
both Eve and Adam ; the voice of God in the cool 
of the day; the consternation of the guilty pair; 
the sentence of condemnation to man, woman, and 
serpent ; the implied promise of a Saviour at last, 
thus in the midst of wrath remembering mercy; 
and the expulsion from their once happy home, 
while the flaming sword guarded the entrance to 
their lost paradise. So realistic was the descrip- 
tion that the little audience sat motionless even after 
Rosy was silent. 

“Go on. Rosy; go on,” presently said Lucy, who 
never was satisfied on such occasions. 

“ Not now,” was her sister’s reply ; “ let us sing 
first.” And deciding upon a hymn that was familiar 
to all, she judiciously relieved their attention and 
varied the “exercises” by inviting all to join her 
in singing it. 

Rosy then thought how appropriate it would be 
to tell about the Saviour who had been promised ; 
so she again riveted their attention with the sweet 
story of the Babe of Bethlehem. The lowly man- 
ger, the song of the angels, the adoration and the 
gifts of the wise men, the duplicity and cruelty of 
King Herod, the flight into Egypt and return to 
Nazareth, were all realized as never before in the 
lives of these girls, whose daily existence was a 
monotonous round in a narrow sphere. 

4 


50 


‘^The Do Society.’’ 


The declining sun admonished Rosy that they 
should soon disperse, so she said pleasantly: “ We 
ought to close our Sunday-school with prayer; 
don’t you think so? Let us repeat together the 
Lord’s Prayer.” 

It was a pleasant sight to see that young creat- 
ure, with head reverently bowed, leading the peti- 
tions, while the rest followed in low tones. Little 
did Rosy think, as she bade them good-by and in- 
vited them to come again, “ whereunto this might 
grow.” Her chief thought was that she had 
tried to ‘*do well on the Sabbath-day,” and would 
be glad to continue the good work, week after 
week. 

“Well, Rosy, you had a regular meeting this 
afternoon,” said Harry to her as she returned to 
the house. 

“ Yes, and a pleasant one too. I hope the girls 
will come again next Sunday. They go to school so 
little — only the three summer months — that they 
read very indifferently, and it is a task to them to 
attempt to read the Bible. I wish I could interest 
them in it, so they would try oftener.” 

“ I have heard better singing, I must say,” 
laughed Harry. 

“ Well, then, come out and help us next Sunday. 
We need your voice.” 

About the middle of that week Rosy came to her 
brother and said: “ Harry, I don’t see the use of a 


Beginning the Good Work. 


51 


boy’s taking first prize in penmanship Unless he 
puts it to some good use.” 

“ What are you up to now, Sis? You wish me 
to do something for you, I am sure. I can easily 
guess that little conundrum, but what is the ^ some- 
thing?’” . 

“Just this: You know we have no books for 
our Elm-shade Sunday-school, only the Bible and 
hymn-book; and those girls do not know the Ten 
Commandments, but I thought if you would copy 
them off in print, so that they could easily read 
them, next Sunday I could give each one a copy, 
and they could study them at home. Won’t you. 
Bud ? That’s a dear, good boy. Only four copies.” 
And she looked wistfully in his face. 

“All right — I’ll do it ; but I will have to work 
real hard to get them done by Sunday.” 

And he did work “ real hard,” using his recesses 
and a portion of Saturday in order to finish his 
task. He felt amply repaid, however, at his sister’s 
delight, when he brought them to her for her in- 
spection. After beautifully printing the text with 
many fancy touches, he had illuminated the borders 
with red and blue ink, then pasted the paper neat- 
ly upon stiff pasteboard, so as to secure its greater 
durability. In addition to the decalogue, he had 
placed below them these words of the Saviour; “A 
new commandment I give unto you, That ye love 
one another. — Jesus Christ.” 


52 


^‘The Do Society/’ 


The next Sunday afternoon Eosy’s audience had 
more than doubled, which fact was a sufficient 
proof of the interest she had inspired in those wdio 
heard her the previous week. When the command- 
ment cards w'ere given to the girls for whom they 
had been made, their pleasure was as evident, 
though not so loudly expressed, as Rosy’s had been ; 
and Harry, unable to resist the laughing looks of 
the new-comers, promised to prepare cards for 
them also. 

And now Eosy’s little band met regularly under 
the shady elm -tree. Every Sunday brought an 
accession of members, but so gradually did they 
gather that she scarcely realized how much her au- 
dience was increasing, therefore being spared the 
embarrassment she might otherwise have felt. She 
soon proved the truth of the proverb, “He that 
watereth shall be watered also himself,” for in read- 
ing her Bible more diligently, in order to refresh 
her memory and prepare for her Sunday talks, she 
experienced a greater preciousness in it, and felt 
that God w’as approving and blessing her in the 
work she w'as doing for his sake. 

But now we must leave this little Christian and 
follow Annie Cooper in her journey homew^ard, after 
parting with her cousins at the depot in the village 
of E. 


CHAPTER VI. 

ANOTHER OF THE THREE COUSINS. 

T he sun had not risen ^Yhen Annie entered the 
car. She seated herself by an open window on 
the eastern side, in order to enjoy the brilliancy 
which heralded his approach. The soft, pure air and 
rapid motion were most exhilarating in their effects 
upon her. She wondered — as so many do under sim- 
ilar conditions — how she could ever be willing to 
spend the loveliest hour of the twenty-four in un- 
conscious slumber. Her happiness found vent in 
song, and in a low tone she sung her favorite hymns, 
all breathing a desire to love and serve the great 
Creator of the beauty which lay around her. 

All nature seemed to be arousing from the rest 
of the night, and she discovered new charms every 
moment. As the sun darted his rays earthward, 
they w^ere reflected in the myriads of dew’-drops on 
grass and leaf and tender shoots, till the surface of 
the earth resembled a diamond-bestudded carpet, 
more brilliant than all the mines, of earth could 
yield or the most skilled artisan contrive. “ like 
blade o’ grass bears its ain drap o’ dew.” Annie 
had seen this quotation somewhere, and it now 
came unbidden to her mind, and with it thoughts 

(533 


54 


The Do Society. 


of individual responsibility. “ How many blades 
of grass it takes to cover this broad field,” so ran 
her musings ; ‘‘ yet each one truly bears ‘ its ain drap 
o’ dew:’ so I have my ‘ain drap’ of influence, of 
usefulness, of duty in the world. I hope it may be 
as bright, as pure, and as beautiful as the diamond- 
like drops. O how pretty!” She was surprised 
into this ejaculation by a sight she — city girl that 
she was — had never seen before: a large circle or 
wheel of lace-like texture, lightly entangled between 
the graceful arches of a brilliant flowering shrub, 
illuminated, glorified by the dazzling sunbeams 
caught in its dewy meshes. Yes, glorified; for com- 
mon as the field-spider’s web may appear to the 
unimaginative, to her it was a revelation of beauty 
and of God’s goodness. She strained her neck to 
look till she could see it no longer, and then began 
to watch for others. “ They look like fairies had 
spun them out of threads of silver,” she whispered 
to herself; then presently added, “No, no one but 
God could make any thing so exquisite.” 

Her attention w^as next called to the melody of 
the birds as they chanted their morning orisons, 
and to her ear their music never sounded half so 
sweet. She watched the pretty creatures as they 
hopped from twig to bough with their graceful 
motions of caprice, then upward cleft the air on 
rapid wing. 

And now a new day of toil and duty had fairly 


Another of the Three Cousins. 65 


opened upon the world. From her open window 
Annie observed the various avocations of country 
life — a living panorama passed before her. Here 
came the herd of lowing kine, driven to pasture by 
the whistling barefoot boy; there the plowman re- 
sumed the labors of the preceding day, and the 
yielding furrow showed his skill ; yonder a pile of 
brush ready for the torch awaited the final mo- 
ment, and Annie saw the blazing match applied, and 
directly the crackling flames shot upward. And 
then again she fell to musing: “How great a mat- 
ter a little fire kindleth! It is so with what is evil, 
and it can be so with what is good. I do hope my 
influence will be for good at home, and always in- 
creasing, just like that — ” as a rapid motion 
brought into view a placid lake with several young 
Urchins on its bank. One had cast a stone, and the 
little ripple it caused spread and spread far, far 
iway in ever-widening circles. 

“ I won’t have the help at home that Ella and 
Eosy wdll.” And she sadly thought of the dear father 
who petted her so, but, absorbed in money-getting, 
seemed to give no thought to any other world but 
this; of the mother who never spoke to her of God ; 
of the sister and brother who seldom -went to church; 
and then came the conviction, “ I must try to help 
them — I wonder if I can do it?” and her mind 
drifted back to the solemn inquiry that had been 
so impressed upon her, and that she had resolved 


56 


The Do Society.’' 


to adopt as the motto of her life, “Lord, what wilt 
thou have nie'to do? ” She reached for her satchel, 
and taking from it her little Testament, turned to 
the ninth chapter of Acts, and read it slowly and 
attentively: “‘He fell to the earth, and heard a 
voice saying unto him.’ Yes, Jesus spoke to him 
and told him that he was persecuting him. Inas- 
much as he did it unto one of the least of his follow- 
ers, he did it unto him. That is what he meant, and 
Saul understood at once. How can any one fail to 
answer and to understand when Jesus speaks? 
And yet so many do! But Jesus did not imme- 
diately answer when asked, ‘ Lord, what wilt thou 
have me to do? ’ He told Saul to go into the city, 
and it should be told him what he must do. For 
three days he waited, blind and fasting, but praying 
and encouraged by the vision of Ananias’s visit. 
Shall I have to wait before I can see what the Lord 
will have me to do? If so, I must spend the time 
in praying as Saul did, and I must be willing to 
obey as Ananias was when he said, ‘ Behold, I am 
here. Lord.’ True, he hesitated afterward when 
he heard what his mission was to be, but not for 
long ‘Go thy way,’ the Lord told him, and he 
went at once and called Saul ‘brother’ — ‘Go th)'- 
way, for he is a chosen vessel unto me.’ O how I 
w'ould love to be a ‘chosen vessel’ unto the Lord!” 
She read on . “ ‘ For I will show him how great things 
he must suffer for my name’s sake.’ I do wonder 


Another of the Three Cousins. 57 


whether I shall ever suffer any thing for his name’s 
sake. 0! what is ihatf'^ broke in terror from her 
lips. A jolt, a jerk, a fearful swaying motion, and 
then a wild, headlong plunge through the air, and 
at the bottom of the embankment, surrounded by 
the d4bris of the wrecked train, and the mangled, 
the dying, and the dead, lay the inanimate form of 
Annie Cooper, a gash upon her head and a piece 
of timber across her back, pinning her to the 
ground ! 


CHAPTER Ylir V ,, 

SEQUEL OF A RAILWAY ACCIDENT. . , 

W HEN Anuie roused to consciousness, she lay on 
lier own bed in her luxurious room at home. 
At first she could not locate herself, and when she 
did, for some moments she could not remember what , 
had occurred up to the last instant of her recollec- 
tion. Her thoughts returned to the cousins with 
whom she had so lately associated, but the familiar 
objects in the apartment proved she was no longer 
in the village of E. By degrees the circumstances 
of her parting with them and the fact of her jour- 
ney came to her mind, then the remembrance of 
the quick alarm, the breathless downward leap, the 
screams of terror, and the short, sharp agony be- 
fore unconsciousness mercifully came to her relief. 
But how long was it since that had happened? 
How and when was she brought home? How se- 
riously was she hurt? These questions presented 
themselves in rapid succession. She raised her 
hand to her head, and discovered that much of her 
hair had been cut away and bandages applied. 
She was in no acute pain as she lay quietly in bed, 
but so sore and bruised that she either felt no incli- 
nation to rise or had not the power. She turned 
(58) 


Sequel of a Railway Accident. 59 


her head and discovered her mother sitting beside 
her. Her face was buried in her handkerchief, 
but the slight movement attracted her attention, 
and rising she bent over her as Annie extended her 
hand and murmured “Mamma.” 

“Doctor! she knows me!” involuntarily ex- 
claimed Mrs. Cooper i and a tall, pale gentleman 
came out of the shadows of the darkened room and 
approached the bed. He felt his patient’s pulse, 
and closely examined her eyes ; then, exchanging a 
few words with her, and charging her mother to 
keep her very quiet and admit no one else into the 
apartment, he promised to return in a few hours, 
and left the room. 

To Annie’s whispered inquiries her mother made 
but one reply: “My darling, Dr. Hudson forbids 
your speaking or being spoken to. Be patient; 
you will know all after awhile. Go to sleep now.” 
Which injunction Annie found no difficulty in 
obeying, for she felt strangely weak and prostrate; 
and almost as her mother spoke she fell again into 
a deep slumber. 

Many days passed before conversation was al- 
lowed, and many more before Annie was considered 
convalescent; but when she asked how long before 
she could sit up or try to walk about, her questions 
were evaded and all endeavors to do either posi- 
tively forbidden. At such times the sorrowful ex- 
pression upon her mother’s face, strangely in con- 


60 


“The Do Society.' 


trast with her hopeful words, did not escape the 
daughter’s observation, and gradually it dawned 
upon her that her injury was more serious than she 
had supposed. What if she should be a cripple for 
life? She had heard of such things, and a bitter 
pang swept through her young heart as thoughts of 
the youthful pleasures she would be denied came 
one by one before her mind’s eye. And she had 
planned to be so useful among her companions, to 
do so much good to the poor; she had wished to vis- 
it among them, to feed the hungry and clothe the 
needy. Her father, who had never refused her 
lightest request, would have given her abundant 
means with which to execute her benevolent designs. 
She had been so anxious to be an active Christian, 
to do good everywhere, and the thought of the lit- 
tle society and talks with her cousins came over 
her with such a regretful wave of feeling that it 
was almost more than she could bear. But hark! 
was it a voice that whispered to her? “ I will show 
him how great things he must suffer for my name’s 
sake.” 

Like a flash of light came back to her the full 
train of reflections she had had on her journey 
while reading of Paul’s conversion immediately be- 
fore her dreadful accident. And now was Jesus 
speaking to herf Was it possible that she, even 
she, should be a “ chosen vessel unto the Lord ? ” If 
so, if Jesus was speaking to her, she would listen. 


Sequel of a Railway Accident. 61 


she would answer, as did Ananias, “ Behold, I am 
here. Lord.” Then did the same Holy Spirit that 
filled SauFs heart after he received his sight de- 
scend upon this young disciple, and difiuse such a 
glow within her heart that she felt if Jesus wished 
her to suffer for his name’s sake she would count it 
all joy to do so, and be willing to receive that as 
the answer to her cry : “ Lord, what wilt thou have 
me to do?” 

Annie lay quietly upon her couch with her eyes 
closed. Her mother approached, gazed upon her, 
and turned away, thinking she slept, and moved to 
tears at the sweet patience in her face. She little 
knew how happy her daughter ^vas; for Annie, 
though longing to open her heart to her, had as 
yet had no opportunity, her mother discouraging 
conversation from a desire to scrupulously carry 
out the doctor’s wishes in that respect. Several 
times had Annie sought to ascertain from her moth- 
er the extent of her injuries, but it caused her such 
evident distress, and the answers were so plainly 
evasive, that she had learned nothing. 

One morning, as Doctor Hudson shook his young 
patient by the hand on taking his leave, he felt de- 
posited in his palm a tiny note, which, as he drove 
from the house, he opened and read as follows: 

My Dear Doctor: I do thank you for all your kindness 
and goodness to me. It encourages me to ask a great fa- 
vor of you, which is that you will tell me my exact con* 


62 


^‘The Do Society.” 


dition. Mamma cannot do it, and you have no idea liow 
anxious I am to know. Will I ever be able to walk, or 
does the injury to my spine involve the necessity of my 
keeping my bed as long as 1 live? Dear Dr. Hudson, 
please do not give me any but a candid reply. Any cer- 
tainty will be more endurable than the suspense 1 sulFer. 
Do not think it will hurt me to tell me; indeed it will not. 
I am prepared for it. I am not the giddy, willful, thought- 
less girl you knew me to be before 1 went to E. You, who 
liave been for so long a disciple of Jesus, will understand 
me when I say that I trust 1 have become one too, for even 
before my accident this inquiry was the burden of my 
heart; “ Lord, what wilt thou have me to do? ” If the an- 
swer has come to me in this painful and unexpected way, 
and the Lord intends that I must “ sutler for his name’s 
sake,” I thank him that 1 feel willing to do it. I am sure 
he will give me grace to bear it, for I have been happier 
in the consciousness of his love and presence since I have 
been injured than I ever was before. I tell you truly, my 
dear friend, I would rather enjoy the sweet feelings I have 
had for the past few days, with the knowledge that I 
should never again leave my bed, than to have all my 
former health and activity without that experience. So, 
please answer me candidly, dear doctor, and I will be most 
gratefully your young friend, Annie Cooper. 

Dr. -Hudson was some time in reading this note, 
for repeatedly did he have to stop and wipe his 
spectacles. “Dear child!” he murmured at its 
close. “ She little thinks that already she is en- 
gaged in most active Christian service. She has 
strengthened my faith, and what may she not do 
for poor Mrs. Blount? In such a cause it is no 


Sequel op a Railway Accident. 63 


breach of confidence to show this letter. Annie, I 
am sure, would not object.” 

Descending at the door of a house as he spoke, 
he was soon ushered into a sumptuous apartment, 
where lying upon a couch was an invalid, pale and 
thin, with such a look of discontent, even peevish- 
ness, upon her features that at a glance one could 
see she chafed under the chains that bound her in 
a way to make them far heavier. 

“ Good-morning, Mrs. Blount,” said the doctor 
in so cheerful and kindly a tone that it was enough 
to inspire a similar response, but not in this case. 
The lady raised her languid eyes, and not a ray of 
greeting lightened their gloom as almost mechan- 
ically fell from her lips the conventional, “ Good- 
morning, doctor.” 

“ I hope you feel better to-day,” continued Dr. 
Hudson. “ You would feel better, I am sure, if you 
would let in a little more of God’s beautiful sun- 
shine,” rising as he spoke and throwing open the 
closed shutters of the window beside her. 

“ O doctor, don’t ! ” and she shaded her face with 
her hand ; “ I cannot bear it. The sunshine mocks 
my misery.” 

“ My dear madam, you should not speak so. You 
should not feel so. Because God has denied you 
some of his good gifts, must you clothe yourself in 
rebellious gloom, and shut out of your life all that 
might yet brighten it? ” 


64 


‘The Do Society.’ 


“ What brightness can there be for me, with my 
baby dead, my health shattered?’^ And her sigh 
was very deep, and tears stood in her eyes. 

“ You forget your husband, so tender and true.’* 
Hush ! ” interrupted the miserable woman, “ I 
am a burden upon him. I know his home is gloomy 
and uninviting, but I cannot help it. I almost 
wish that I might die; then life might not be so 
dreary to him.” 

“ Mrs. Blount, I am glad your husband does not 
hear you say that. It is but a poor return for his 
unwearied devotion and patience. He loves you 
tenderly, and your death would almost break his 
heart, and to hear you speak thus would pain him 
deeply.” 

“ O doctor, I am hardly responsible for what I 
say. I am so wretched. Perhaps if my health was 
good I could become interested in other things ; but 
now, tied to this bed and racked with pain, I think 
only of my dead child, and mourn, and mourn.” 

“ Yes,” Dr. Hudson replied solemnly, “ and will 
not be comforted. My dear madam, excuse me for 
speaking plainly to you, but a physician must probe 
the wound he would heal — have you ever sought 
comfort of God? Have you ever asked his help to 
enable you to say, ‘ Thy will be done? ’ ” 

“Alas, no I God seems to have cast me off. I 
dare not approach him. I tell you truly, I have 
not attempted to pray since he refused me, and did 


Sequel of a Railway Accident. G5 


not spare my baby’s life.” And she biDke into pas- 
sionate weeping. 

Her friend placed his hand on hers with a gest- 
ure of tender compassion. 

‘‘No wonder,” he said, “ that your health does 
not improve. My skill cannot reach your case. Let 
us together seek the aid of a greater Physician than 
I am.” And kneeling beside her, the good doctor, 
who sought from him in every case wisdom and di- 
rection, now asked the “sympathizing Jesus” to 
bind up this bruised spirit, to heal this broken 
heart, to cure this sin-sick soul, to give the “ oil of 
joy for mourning,” and the “ garment of praise for 
the spirit of heaviness,” “ that he might be glori- 
fied.” He prayed that she might be taught of God 
to say, “ Thy will be done,” and then, if it was his 
will, to receive renewed strength of body, as well as 
“ that jieace which passeth understanding.” 

As Dr. Hudson prayed, Mrs. Blount grew calm- 
er. As he rose from his knees she thanked him. 
Her words were few, but full of feeling, and her 
manner was soft and very calm. 

“ I have a little patient I wish to tell you of,” 
said the doctor, as he rose and took his hat. “ She 
is but fifteen years old, the daughter of one of the 
merchant princes of the city, therefore brought up 
in luxury, and having the promise of a brilliant so- 
cial career. She has always been one of the mer- 
riest, gayest girls I knew, full of fun and frolic, the 
5 


6G 


‘‘The Do Society.” 


leader of every plan for pleasure and amusement in 
her circle. About six weeks ago she went on a vis- 
it to friends in the village of E. Two weeks since, 
while returning, she met with an accident on the 
train, which has so injured her spine that she will 
never walk agJlin. Her periods of pain are ir- 
regular, both as to time and severity. She slipped 
this note into my hand this morning. I will take 
the liberty of leaving it with you. I ask of you to 
read it slowly and attentively. I trust you may re- 
read it then, prayerfully. Remember, you may re- 
cover your health in a few weeks ; for her there can 
be no such hope. But read this when you are 
alone, and may God bless you.” 

The' next day, when Dr. Hudson paid his usual 
visit to Annie Cooper, he handed her a paper, 
•when no one observed him, the contents of which 
■were as follows: 

My Deitr Child: Yonr note caused me tears of sorrow and 
of joy. Sorrow, because truth compels me to tell you that, 
as far as study and experience inform me, you can never 
walk again. You may live for many years, most prolxibly 
will, and your pain will be less as time rolls on, but I can 
give you no hope that you will ever be able to assume any 
but a recumbent posture. On the other hand, my tears 
were of joy, because you are “glorifying the Lord in the 
fires.” Be of good courage, young sister; the promise is, 
“When thou walkest tlfrough the fire, thou shalt not lie 
burned.” 

His only design • 

Is thy dross to consume, apd thy gpld to refine, 


Sequel of a Kailway Accident. 67 


YesI “Unto you it is given in the behalf of Christ, not 
only to believe on him, but also to suffer for his sake.” O be 
assured of it I You are doubtless a “chosen vessel to bear 
his name ” unto those with whom you may come in contact. 
We are told, “As we have therefore opportunity, let us do 
good.” Fear not; opportunities will be given you. Re- 
member, the liighest praise that can be bestowed is the com- 
mendation of the Master, “ She hath done what she could.” 
It is true, “ they also serve who only stand and wait.” So 
“stand in your lot,” dear child, and “it shall be told thee 
what thou must do.” I can find at present no words of 
comfort or sympathy for you in your afiliction. God is 
speaking to you. “As one whom his motlier comforteth, so 
is he comforting you.” Beside these divine whisperings 
mere human words are weak, are worse than vain. Into 
his tender keeping I leave and commend you; and simply 
thanking you for the good, the help, the inspiration your 
patience of love has already been to me, I subscribe myself 
your affectionate friend, E. M. Hudson. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE THIRD OF THE COUSINS. 

O NE sunny afternoon, a few days after her cousins 
had left, Ella Glover sat in her favorite spot at 
her grandmother’s feet, reading aloud to her. Ella’s 
father had matured his plans in regard to the con- 
tinuance of her education, and while her mornings 
were devoted to solid reading and written synopses 
of her tasks, her afternoons were at her own dis- 
posal, always provided that if she read it was to be 
something that he approved. 

She had just finished Longfellow’s sad and beau- 
tiful “ Evangeline,” and was now turning the leaves 
of the volume at random, reading here and there 
whatever attracted her attention, when she ex- 
claimed : “ O grandmother, only listen ! This could 
not have suited better if it had been written for 
this very house and the dear old clock on the land- 
ing there.” And she began to read “ The Old Clock 
on the Stairs.” Now, Ella had read but a verse or 
two to herself, and struck with the resemblance 
had spoken quickly and began to read aloud, not 
knowing how true the parallel would be, and how 
the old wounds in her grandmother’s heart would 
be opened afresh. As she read. 


The Third of the Cousins. 


69 


“From that chamber, clothed in white, 

The bride came forth on her wedding-night 
There, in that silent room below. 

The dead lay in his shroud of snow,” 

she glanced furtively up, and seeing the tears quiet- 
ly stealing down the meek face she so dearly loved, 
she regretted her incautious haste; but, as she read 
on and the words of comfort ended the little poem, 
she kissed the hand she held, and repeated with 
loving pathos; 

“Ah! when shall they all meet again? 

Never here, /orerej’ there, 

Where all parting, pain, and care. 

And deatii and time, shall disappear.” 

The sight of her father was a grateful diversion 
just at that moment, and rising to meet him, she 
asked : “Are there no letters for us, papa ? No news 
from Annie? We ought to have heard two days 
ago.” 

“ Yes, dear, there is a letter to-day ; but it con- 
tains sad news. Annie was seriously hurt in a rail- 
road accident on her journey home. Her spine is 
much injured, and from what Alfred says— for her 
brother writes— I fear she will never walk again.” 

“O papa!” cried Ella, with whitening face and 
clasped hands. 

Mrs. Glover murmured, “My poor Emily!” for 
her mother’s heart had gone forth to her own child 
in her anguish as a mother. 


70 


“The Do Society.’’ 


“ O papa ! ” repeated Ella, “ surely not so bad as 
that.” 

“ I fear it is too true, my child. Alfred says Dr. 
Hudson is of that opinion ; and he is too prudent 
and cautious a man, as well as learned and skillful 
a physician, to express an opinion without weighty 
reasons for it.” 

“ O how can she stand it? ” lamented Ella. “ Poor 
Annie, never to walk again ! So active and agile 
as she was, so lively and merry always, and so anx- 
ious to do good.” And, as their watch-word -brought 
to her mind their little society and many talks, the 
tears could no longer be restrained. 

“Alfred writes that her patience causes them the 
greatest surprise; that she has always been the pet 
of the family, with never an ungratified wish, and 
they expected her disease acting so immediately 
upon the nerves would render her irritable; but he 
declares she is as mild and gentle as a lamb.” 

“ He says truly,” interposed Mrs. Glover; “she is 
a lamb, a lamb of Christ’s flock, and the ‘ Good 
Shepherd’ will ‘gather her in his arms and carry 
lier in his bosom.’ I am content to leave her 
there.” 

Dr. Glover patted his daughter on the head. 
“ Ella, get your hat,” he said ; “ I am going some 
little distance into the country, and wish your com- 
pany.” 

With Ella, to whom the most lightly expressed 


The Third of the Cousins. 


71 


wish of her father had the binding effect of a com- 
mand, to hear was to obey ; and in a few moments 
she was seated beside him in his buggy. The rapid 
motion and little incidents of the drive interrupted 
her sad thoughts, as her father knew they must, 
and she was soon engaged in a conversation which 
he purposely led into other channels. 

They stopped before an humble cottage just as a 
sudden cry of alarm met their ears, and hastening 
into the house they saw a child of apparently four 
years of age in violent convulsions upon the bed, 
while the mother, wringing her hands in helpless 
terror, stood beside him. Dr. Glover immediately 
proceeded with active measures for the little one’s 
relief; but finding the mother utterly incapacitated 
by grief for rendering him any assistance, he gave 
his directions to Ella, who, with efficiency beyond 
her years, proved fully equal to the emergency. 
She heated water and prepared a bath, found — as 
if by intuition — various articles that were needed, 
and proved that she possessed the most valuable 
requisites in a nurse — thoughtfulness, promptitude, 
and a gentle, soothing touch. 

Her father was not so engrossed with his ministra- 
tions to the sick child that he did not observe her 
skill with much gratification. It was the first time 
it had been called into use, but he knew it would 
be valuable to her throughout life. 

After the attack had yielded to remedies, and the 


72 


The Do Society.' 


child was quietly sleeping, Dr. Glover prepared to 
take his leave ; but the anxious mother implored him 
not to do so. 

“O doctor, don’t go; please don’t go! What 
shall I do without you? Suppose Johnny should 
have another spell.” 

“ Will not your husband be at home to-night?” 

“ Yes ; but Bob is no more ’count than I am when 
he is scared. He just naturally worships Johnny, 
and he couldn’t do a single thing if he was to have 
another spasm.” 

Her anxiety was pitiable to behold. 

“Father,” whispered Ella, “if you are willing, 
I should like to stay with her to-night. Poor thing, 
she seems so helpless. You can give me your di- 
rections, and I think I can carry them out. It will 
be doing the ^nexte thynge/ won’t it?” she added 
with a sweet smile. 

“ No doubt of it, my dear; and if you wish to, I 
will gladly consent. It is probable the child will 
have another attack unless my directions are car- 
ried out to the letter.” Then, turning to the moth- 
er, he said : “ I will leave my daughter in my place 
with full directions, which I know she will strictly 
observe. I would remain with you myself, Mrs. 
Hopkins, but I have a case in the village even 
more urgent, which demands my attention.” 

Mrs. Hopkins was profuse in expressions of grat- 
itude to Ella for her kindness in staying with her. 


The Third Of the Cousins. 


73 


“ There are not many girls,” she said, “ who would 
be willing to sit up all night and nurse the sick, 
particularly in such a scary attack as this. I de- 
clare when Johnny rolls his eyes back and froths at 
the mouth, I feel like he is dying and that I must 
die too. How did you come to think of staying with 
me? I heard you tell your father you would if he 
would let you.” 

“As you have asked me, Mrs. Hopkins, I will tell 
you,” said Ella, with heightened color. “I thought 
of this verse : ‘ Whatsoever ye would that men should 
do to you, do ye even so to them and I felt that it 
w'as my duty to stay then, for if I were in your place 
I should hate to be left alone.” 

“Well, I am sure Bob and I will never forget 
you for it the longest day we live. Now, you can 
sit by Johnny, and I will cook supper. I haven’t 
eaten a bite since breakfast ; for he got worse soon 
after his father went, and I haven’t left him a min- 
ute.” 

Ella felt keenly the novelty and responsibility of 
her position, and while hoping earnestly that the 
little fellow would not have another alarming at- 
tack, she reviewed in her mind all that her father 
had done, and all that he had told her. 

Soon Mr. Hopkins came in, and by turns they 
■went to the supper-table. Wearied with a day of 
hard labor though he was, it was with difficulty 
that his wife persuaded him to go to rest, so great 


74 


“The Do Society.” 


was his solicitude for his child. At last, after re- 
peated entreaties, he consented to stretch himself 
upon an extra bed in the same apartment, protest- 
ing, however, that he would not and could not sleep. 
Overtaxed nature, though, soon asserted its power, 
and his wife smiled significantly at Ella as his reg- 
ular breathing proved that his anxiety was lost in 
slumber. 

It was the first time in her life that Ella had 
acted the part of a sick-nurse, or spent the mid- 
night hours out of bed. She was not at all drowsy ; 
indeed, sleep seemed to have flown from her eye- 
lids — the feeling of her responsibility sharpened ev- 
ery faculty, and kept ear and eye constantly on the 
alert. Her mind was actively engaged in picturing 
the scene that must have attended Annie’s acci- 
dent, and she yearned to see that dear cousin, and 
assist in tenderly caring for her. 

The hours of the short summer night soon passed, 
and Ella experienced a feeling of relief as the faint 
color in the eastern sky grew brighter, and day, 
with its hope and cheer, banished the gloom of night. 
Not that she could detect any improvement in the 
little patient who had not yet awakened, but her 
fears and dreads diminished simply because it was 
day ; and when Mrs. Hopkins extinguished the lamp 
and lifted the curtain, so that sunshine could chase 
away the shadows that had excited a mysterious 
feeling of awe within her, she drew a long breath 


The Third op the Cousins. 


75 


of satisfaction. She felt the little one’s pulse, and 
'vvas sure its beat was s’ower; she moved the locks 
upon his brow, and knew that the moisture was nat- 
ural ; then she expressed her hope to his mother that 
he was better. 

“ He had such a quiet night, I hope papa will say 
he is better.” 

“01 hope so,” w as the reply ; “ and. Miss Ella, I 
will never forget your kindness in staying with me. 
If everybody practiced the ‘Golden Rule’ as you 
have done, this w ould be a different w’orld.” 

“ I have only begun to try to make it my rule,” 
said Ella modestly. “ I really want to observe it, 
and do good as I have opportunity.” 

“ Well, you will lead a useful life then, for sick- 
ness and sorrow are everywhere, and you have such 
a knack of nursing. Though I was so frightened 
yesterday that I couldn’t do any thing, I noticed 
how gentle and quick you were — doing things before 
I could even think of them. You are just cut out 
for a nurse, and anybody in the fix that I was in 
would be as glad to have your help as a woman two 
or three times your age.” 

“ But, Mrs. Hopkins, papa told me what to do ; 
every thing was new to me. I have no experience 
at all.” 

“ That makes no difference. I tell you it’s just 
as I say. It comes natural like to you. Some 
folks can nurse and some can’t. You mark my 


76 


The Do Society/ 


words: if you live, you’ll see the day when you’ll be 
depended on and sej^t for to help with the sick far 
and near. 

Ella was silent a moment, and these 'words flitted 
through her mind : “ Who went about doing good.” 
A feeling of humility and gratitude filled her heart 
at the thought of what an honor it would be to de- 
serve, even in the remotest degree, that these words, 
descriptive of her Saviour "while on earth, should 
be spoken of her. Then she said : “ I hope you are 
right, Mrs. Hopkins. I should love to do good that 
way, for ‘ whatsoever my hand findeth to do ’ I wish 
to do with my might.” 

“ Since you have quoted Scripture, I will quote 
too,” rejoined Mrs. Hopkins; “aud I want you to 
remember it. Bob and I are poor Christians, I 
know, still we want to be better; and that Scripture 
is this: ‘ Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of 
the least of these my brethren, ye have done it 
unto me.* And that is just what you have done this 
time. It just exactly fits.” 

The stroke of the clock warned them that it was 
time to give another dose of medicineT, and the con- 
versation came to an end. 

“If there ain’t mother!” exclaimed Mrs. Hop- 
kins as she glanced toward the window. “And ain’t 
I glad? I wonder if she knew Johnny was sick.” 

By this time the old lady was in the room, and 
in cautious whispers explained that late the night 


The Third of the Cousins. 


77 


before she had heard of the child’s sickness, so at 
day-break that morning she left home to come to 
him ; “for,” she said, with deprecating shakes of the 
head, “ I knew Matildy would be wild about him, 
and not a bit of sarvice on earth.” 

Her coming rendered it unnecessary for Ella to - 
remain longer; so, when her father made his morn- 
ing visit, and gladdened the parents’ hearts by an- 
nouncing their boy much better, and in a fair way 
to recover, she took leave of her new friends, and 
went home to seek the rest she needed. 

As they drove along Ella repeated to her father 
the conversation between herself and Mrs. Hop- 
kins, candidly admitting that it opened up to her a 
field of usefulness that she had never thought of be- 
fore. 

“ The more I think of it, papa, the more I feel 
as if this might be a special answer to the inquiry 
our little society has adopted as its own.” And a 
sigh escaped her as she thought of poor Annie. 
“A special answer to me, I mean; for my oppor- 
tunities may be frequent, as your daughter.” 

“ Indeed, yes, my dear; I often have my sympa- 
thies deeply moved in cases where a patient has no 
nurse, or one not w^orthy of the name.” 

“And, papa,” Ella continued, lowering her voice 
as was her custom when speaking of her most 
sacred feelings, “ while I wish to be willing to obey 
the charge, ‘ Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it,’ still 


78 


The Do Society; 


this duty of nursing the sick, as I see it so clearly 
now, I do believe will be a special duty for me. I 
think I shall like it; and if I develop any aptitude 
for it, I shall regard it as a talent to be used in 
God’s service.” 

“ My daughter, it deeply gratifies me to hear you 
speak so. ‘ If ye know these things, happy are ye 
if ye do them and you will be happy. I know of 
no calling more like our Master’s when on earth 
than that which alleviates human suffering, and the 
office of nurse is as important as' that of physician. 
For many years I have been guided in my practice 
by this injunction : ‘ Whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, 
as to the Lord, and not unto men ; ’ therefore, I carry 
every case to him, and — wdth reverence I say it — 
seek him for my consulting physician. Ever since 
I have done that, daughter, I have had greater ac- 
cess to the souls of those fgr whom I prescribe, and 
have felt the happy consciousness that ‘ whatsoever 
I do ’ I endeavor to * do all to the glory of God.’ ” 

“ If I were a man I should certainly be a doctor. 
I think I have a taste for it, father ; I have always 
loved to study physiology and hygiene. I wish 
you would allow me to continue them. With your 
explanations on the subject, I think I should enjoy 
anatomy also.” 

The result of this conversation was that often 
after that Dr. Glover would take Ella with him on 
a professional visit, leave her in the sick-room, 


The Third of the Cousins. 


79 


where she would perform valuable services, and 
call for her on his way home. 

At one time she would dress a blister; at another 
sponge a fevered patient, or bathe an aching head ; 
occasionally she would watch at night by a sick- 
bed. She soon became an expert, and her soft, ef- 
fective touch was craved by all who had once felt 
its benefits. 

During these rides her conversation with her 
father partook of the nature of medical lectures. 
She desired him to diagnose every case in which she 
was interested, and to explain to her the manner 
and reasons of his treatment. Her questions 
evinced so much intelligence and discrimination 
that her father jestingly told her that he should 
have to take her into partnership with him. 

And so the summer wore away— Ella develop- 
ing into a noble, self-sacrificing, useful Christian 
maiden, beloved by all who knew her, and happier 
each day in the love of Jesus, and in the sweet 
consciousness that during its course for his sake she 
had “ done what she could.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

A SUFFERER’S HOLY MISSION. 


“ OTHER,” said Annie to Mrs. Cooper the day 
iVl after Dr. Hudson had handed her the answer 
to her note, “ please come and sit by me ; I want to 
have a long talk with you. Sister has gone to the 
cemetery, and I am glad to have this opportunity of 
speaking to you alone. I want to tell you, first,” 
she continued, as her mother turned from the win- 
dow where she had been adjusting the curtain, and 
took her seat beside her, “ that I know my con- 
dition perfectly. I know that I can never walk 
again, and I am — ” 

“My child, hush!” interrupted her mother; 
“don't say so; I don’t believe it; you must not 
think that. Why, you are getting better every 
day.” 

“I know that the great nervous shock I received 
is wearing off, and the pain is less severe, and the 
cut on my head is almost healed; but, mother, the 
injury to my spine can never be remedied. I know 
I am to remain on this couch as long as I live, for 
Dr. Hudson told me that I should never be able to 
walk again.” 

“ It is not possible that Dr. Hudson told you so ! 

(80) 


A Sufferer’s Holy Mission. 


81 


How could he be so imprudent?” exclaimed Mrs. 
Cooper, surprised into a tacit admission of her 
daughter’s opinion. 

** He told me because I begged him, and he knew 
to evade my questions would do me more harm 
than to candidly answer them. You know, mother, 
I never could bear to be deceived.” 

“Yes, we all know that, and it has made it more 
difficult for us to speak cheerfully to you since 
your accident.” 

“ I have seen it all the time, mother ; therefore I 
was obliged to ask the doctor. Now that we un- 
derstand each other, it will be so much better for 
us all. No one will attempt deception with me 
any more; we will all just ‘accept the situation’ 
[she quoted the familiar expression with a smile], 
and try to make the best of it.” 

“Annie, you surprise me beyond measure,” re- 
plied her mother, with genuine astonishment in her 
face and voice. “ Here we have all been dreading 
the time when you should first suspect how seriously 
you are afflicted, fearing that a paroxysm of grief 
would bring on a fever, which might be alarming 
in your condition, and to my amazement I find that 
you have known it for some time, and are as calm 
and cheerful when speaking of it as if you were not 
personally interested in the matter. How can you 
bear it so beautifully?” 

“Mother, I will tell you,” was the gentle reply: 

6 


82 “ The 13o Society.’' 

“ I have cast my burden on the Lord, and he is 
sustaining me.” 

Mrs. Cooper was nearly bewildered with surprise 
— almost alarm. Being in total ignorance of the 
radical change that had come over her daughter 
during her recent absence from home — which she 
had left a giddy, thoughtless child — and hearing her 
now speak in this manner, a vague terror seized 
her. For a moment she feared that Death had set 
his seal upon her treasure, and such an utterance 
Avas the prelude of an early parting. 

Annie observed the startled look, but was at a 
loss to interpret its meaning; so she w^ent on with 
perfect composure, and in a tone which soon reas- 
sured her mother, to relate her experience during 
the meeting at E. : “I did not Avrite to you, dear 
mamma, because I was soon coming home, and I 
felt as if I should rather talk to you ; and now that 
I have told you how I feel, how desirous I am to 
do as Avell as to suffer God’s will, I want you to 
help me [here Mrs. Cooper silently and sadly 
shook her head]. And first, I want to join the 
Church. I want you to please send for Mr. Emo- 
ry; then you and I can take the sacrament of the 
Lord’s Supper together, and I shall be so happy.” 

Annie’s face beamed Avith pleasure, but her 
mother’s Avas overspread by a cloud. 

“ ^ly dear child, I cannot believe,” she slowly 
said, ‘‘that I could ever have refused you any re- 


A Sufferer’s Holy Mission. 


83 


quest in your condition. But such a request! My 
love, I dare not grant it.” 

“ But, mother, are you not a member of the 
Church?” asked Annie with much concern. 

“Yes; my name is on the record. I joined when 
I was young, before I married. For awhile I was 
a happy Christian; but that was long ago. You 
know how gay we were when Alice was a young 
lady, and how she was plunged into the vortex of 
fashionable society. I always accompanied her, 
enjoyed it, and was as much interested as she was. 
Since her widowhood, it is true, all that is changed ; 
but there has been no change in my indifference 
upon the subject of religion. I have not communed 
for many years. I felt that I was not worthy, and 
purposely absented myself on communion Sabbaths. 
Like Chl’istian, in “ Pilgrim’s Progress,” I have 
lost my roll; but not like him have I sought it, 
weeping until I found it.” 

“ But, dear mother, you may find it yet. * Seek 
and ye shall find,’ is the promise of Jesus, you 
know.” Annie’s voice trembled from earnestness, 
as well as from a fear of appearing to advise her 
mother. 

Nothing was heard in the room for some minutes 
but the gentle ticking of the small clock on the man- 
tel; then Annie spoke in a very low tone; “Won’t 
you commune with me, mother?” 

“ My darling, I am not fit.” 


84 


The Do Society.’ 


“All the fitness he requireth 
Is to feel your need of him/^ 

aptly quoted Annie. 

“Yes, my dear ; but you forget that St. Paul writes, 
‘He that eateth and drinketh unworthily, eateth 
and drinketh damnation to himself.' I read that 
chapter carefully more than once when I fi[rst began 
to remain from the communion-table.” 

“Ah, dear mother, I am so glad I heard good 
old Dr. Morton preach on that very subject when 
1 was at E. He was advising the young converts 
to join 'the Church, and to attend punctually upon 
all its ordinances. He told us that the church at 
Corinth had quite lost sight of the true meaning of 
the Lord’s Supper — had lowered it into a social 
feast, where one was hungry and another drunken ; 
therefore they ate and drank unworthily, ^not dis- 
cerning the Lord^s body'/ but if we obey God’s 
command, ‘ Do this in remembrance of me,’ we 
cannot include ourselves among those wLom Paul 
condemned. And it is God’s command, mother — 
Jesus’ own words — ‘Do this in remembrance of 
me ; ’ and if we fail to obey, surely he must be dis- 
pleased with us.” 

Mrs. Cooper was deeply moved. She recognized 
in her daughter’s pleading tones, and tender yet 
deprecating glance, the delicacy of feeling which 
dreaded lest her mother should think she was pre- 
suming to counsel where she should seek advice; 


A Sufferer’s Holy Mission. 


85 


so, as if to reassure her, she gently stroked the little 
hand she held. 

Thus encouraged, Annie reached under her pil- 
low for a book she had been reading, and opening 
where a mark was placed, said: “Mother, please 
listen to the invitation.” Then very slowly and 
reverently she read aloud those beautiful, compre- 
hensive sentences, which comprise a description of 
the necessary qualifications and state of heart of 
those who may acceptably seek to commemorate 
Christ’s precious death and sufferings: “Ye that 
do truly and earnestly repent of your sins, and are 
in love and charity with your neighbors, and in- 
tend to lead a new life, following the command- 
ments of God, and walking from henceforth in his 
holy ways, draw near with faith, and take this holy 
sacrament to your comfort, and make your humble 
confession to Almighty God, meekly kneeling upon 
your knees.” 

Annie’s voice died away, but Mrs. Cooper did 
not break the silence; she sat with her hand shading 
her eyes, motionless. 

Annie lay very still, praying with all her heart 
that her dear mother might experience again “ the 
blessedness she knew when first she saw the Lord.” 

At last Mrs. Cooper arose, and bending over her 
daughter she kissed her tenderly, and said : “ I will 
write a note to Mr. Emory this afternoon, dear, 
and I hope I shall be able to do as you wish. It is 


86 


The Do Society.” 


time you were taking nourishment now ; I will go 
and prepare it.” 

The next morning, in response to Mrs. Cooper’s 
note, the Kev. Mr. Emory called. He knew Annie 
slightly as a member of his Sunday-school, but had 
not been informed of her misfortune, as the city 
was large and his congregation scattered. His in- 
terest and sympathy were at once enlisted, and he 
mentally resolved that this stricken lamb should 
receive his special care. At this interview their 
conversation was short, for Mrs. Cooper had met 
him in the parlor and suggested this to him, lest 
Annie might become wearied. It was an interest- 
ing scene. The young invalid, pale and weak, lay 
upon her couch, the unmistakable light of happi- 
ness and peace in the brightness of her eye and 
around her expressive mouth. Mrs. Cooper was 
by her side, while near, by special invitation, sat 
Dr. Hudson. A little apart was Mrs. Dabney, 
Annie’s young widowed sister, sad-eyed and silent; 
while still farther off were her father and brother. 
She had made a touching request for the presence 
of the whole family, as they had bid her “ good- 
night ” the evening before, saying: “ I want you all 
to be with me, for it is the most important act of 
my life. I am to be baptized and received into the 
Church, and I shall be happier for your presence.” 

They were there; but to the three of the group 
last mentioned it was a scene of sadness. They 


A Sufferer’s Holy Mission. 


87 


did not enter into the spirit of it; they associated 
such scenes with preparations for death, and as 
they looked at their afflicted darling, she seemed 
in her joyful piety too pure to linger on earth. 
Annie knew they were not in accord with her feel- 
ings or the occasion, but her prayer was that they 
might become so. Jesus had said, “Whatsoever 
ye shall ask in my name, that will I do.” She was 
asking in his name the salvation of her dear ones; 
she knew the answer would come some time. Who 
could tell but that these very services, with God\ 
blessing, might become the beginning of the end for 
which she prayed ? 

Upon a small table nearby were bread and wine 
and a bowl of water. Mr. Emory began the cere- 
monies; he went through the regular ritual. An- 
nie made the solemn renunciation and promises in 
a clear, calm voice. She bowed her head to receive 
the baptismal water, and as her pastor invoked 
God’s richest blessings upon his young disciple, the 
baptism of the Holy Ghost descended upon her, and 
her first communion was to her a heavenly feast. 

When all was over the words of parting were 
few and low. Mr. Emory and Dr. Hudson with- 
drew. Their example was followed by one aiid 
then another, till mother and daughter Were left 
alone. Then Annie said : “ Dear mother, are you 
not glad you communed with us? Did not God 
bless you? I feel that he did.” 


88 


‘‘The Do Society.’ 


Her mother turned a face to her down which 
happy tears were streaming, as she replied : “ Yes, 
my precious child, he made himself known to me 
in the ‘ breaking of bread.’ I am sure the blessing 
came because I obeyed^ and did it ‘ in remembrance 
of him.’ I went forward ‘ with faith, and made 
my humble confession to God,’ and his holy sacra- 
ment has ‘ been to my comfort ; ’ yes, more — even to 
my peace and joy. And, my child, I owe it to you. 
God is already making use of you as a ‘ chosen ves- 
sel,’ and in your crown of rejoicing in heaven will 
your mother’s soul appear.” 


CHAPTER X. 

CONTINUANCE IN WELL-DOING. 

O NE bright day in the following week Annie’s 
couch was rolled close to the window that 
overlooked the street. The arrangement of the 
household had been changed within a few days 
past. The vain hope that she w'ould be restored to 
health and activity had been abandoned, and by 
the tacit consent of the whole family her condition 
of permanent invalidism was recognized as a fact 
by none more absolutely than by Annie herself, 
■svho alluded to it with a spirit of resignation, even 
cheerfulness, that excited the surprise and admira- 
tion of all. 

After due consultation it was decided that she 
should be moved down-stairs. The former sitting- 
room was to be given to her for her special apart- 
ment. It was the sunniest, cheeriest room in the 
house, overlooking the street on the south, and 
opening on the east into a spacious balcony, upon 
which her couch could be rolled through a broad 
French window. On the western side was a cham- 
ber which, henceforth, she would share with her 
sister, and through whose windows she could enjoy 
views of the setting sun. 


( 89 ) 


90 


The Do Society.” 


This was the first day she had taken possession 
of her new quarters. Her former room had been 
at the rear of the house, and she had been deprived 
so long of the sight of outer objects that her spirits 
rose with the little excitement of gazing at the pass- 
ers-by. Her brother, who had assisted in bringing 
her down-stairs, took his stand beside her, his droll 
remarks and witty criticisms on what they saw 
drawing from her merry peals of laughter. At last 
she noticed two children directly below the window, 
and called her brother’s attention to them. A girl 
about her own age was leading by the hand a boy, 
probably eleven years old, and her tender watch- 
fulness over him was apparent at a glance. 

“Brother!” Annie exclaimed, impulsively, “I 
wish I could talk to that boy; he is afflicted, and so 
am I. Please ask them to come in.” 

Without a word he left the room. Annie watched 
him eagerly as he accosted the children, pointing 
up to the window, and evidently explaining her de- 
sire to talk with them. They came in with some 
reluctance, and stood with much embarrassment 
while she shook hands kindly and requested them 
to be seated. 

“I wanted to talk with you,” she said, turning to 
the boy, “ because you are afflicted, and I am too. 
I thought we might help each other. How long 
have you been blind ? ” 

“ Ever since I was six years old, ma’am.’ 


Continuance in Well-doing. 


91 


“O then, I suppose you remember a great deal 
that you saw before you lost your sight, don’t you ? ” 

“Yes, ma’am,” was the brief answer. Then his 
sister said: “I am obliged to go, ma’am. I work 
in the box-factory on the next block. At dinner- 
time I ran home to get Tommy. I thought he 
could spend the evening with me. He gets so tired 
^ staying at home by himself.” 

“ By himself,” repeated Annie. “ Have you not a 
mother?” 

“No, ma’am; she is dead, and father goes out to 
work early and stays late. I have to cook our 
meals before I go out in the mornings. I don’t 
have to go very early. The manager is a kind man. 
I told him I wished I could have till eight o’clock of 
mornings to do our house-work, and he was willing.” 

By this time Annie was much interested in her 
new acquaintances, and as the elder seemed in- 
clined to be communicative, she asked her : “ What 
does Tommy do all day long while he is left alone?” 

“ He plays on the harmonica mainly. He loves 
music more than any thing. That’s why he loves 
to come on the street with me, in hopes that he can 
hear a band or a hand-organ or something.” 

“ Tommy, I -wish you would spend this evening 
with me; you shall hear as much music as you 
wish, and beautiful music too.” And at a sign from 
her Mrs. Cooper touched the spring of a large mu- 
sical box, which, already wound up, stood on a 


92 


The Do Society.' 


table near her elbow. The boy’s delight was pleas- 
ant to see. 

“ He has never heard any thing like that before,” 
said his sister. “ Tommy, will you stay with the 
lady till I come for you? ” 

He readily assented, and she took her leave. For 
awhile the boy sat enraptured. The box played 
its complement of tunes, was wound up and played 
them again. As it ceased for the second time he 
begged to be allowed to feel it. Mrs. Cooper led 
him to the table and explained to him the nature 
of the box, its position on the table, the arrange- 
ment of its contents, the principle on which it 
worked, and allowed him to run his fingers lightly 
over the cylinder, the minute pricker ^ — as he called 
them — and the keys. She showed him how to wind 
it up, and allowed him to do it. She guided his 
fingers to the fly-spring and let him set it in mo- 
tion, then watched him as he alternately raised and 
lowered the lid, and placed his ear down upon the 
top when it was closed. But not a word did he ^ay. 
He was literally speechless with delight. As the 
sweet tones trembled into silence for the third time 
he drew a very long breath, and turning in the di- 
rection of Annie’s couch, he asked: “Did God 
make it?” 

“W-e-1-1,” said Annie, “ God made the men who 
make it, and gave them knowledge and skill so they 
could make it.” 


Continuance in Well-doing. 


93 


“Sister says God made every thing; and I am 
sure that is the sweetest music I ever heard, sweeter 
than I ever heard a man make.” 

“Do you ever go to Sunday-school, Tommy?” 

“No, ma’am.” 

“What do you do on Sundays?” 

“ Well, we get up very late, because papa says it 
is the day of rest, and he must rest. And sister 
says that’s so, that he works too hard all the week 
to be hurried up on Sunday morning. So then 
there is no use for us to get up either. Sister sleeps 
straight along — for she works hard all the week 
too — till the sun is ’way up in the sky. I can tell 
by the window it comes in. Of course breakfast is 
very late ; ’most always we have dinner and break- 
fast together. Then papa takes us into the woods. 
He says laboring folks ought to have a breath of 
fresh air once a week, and it’s mighty nice in the 
woods.” 

And Tommy relapsed into silence, after his one 
burst of communicativeness. 

To many other questions he replied only in mon- 
osyllables, till Annie said ; “ Tommy, I was read- 
ing a pretty story of a blind man to-day; would 
you like to hear it?” 

“ Yes’m,” was the reply. So drawing forth her 
little Bible, which was never beyond her reach, 
Annie read to him St. John’s account of the man 
blind from his birth, whose eyes were opened by 


94 


The Do Society.' 


Jesus on the Sabbath-day, and — because of his faith 
in him — was cast out of the synagogue, accompany- 
ing the narrative with such simple comments as she 
thought would best explain it to him. The little fel- 
low listened with close attention, and as she ceased 
said dryly: “Couldn’t you read me another?” 

“With pleasure.” And she turned to Mark’s 
account of blind Bartimeus. 

“ Seems like Jesus was mighty sorry for blind 
folks,” was Tommy’s remark at its close. “ I wish 
he was on earth now; I be bound I’d follow him, 
and beg him to open my eyes.” 

“And he would cure us both, I am sure, Tommy, 
if he was on earth. But he sees best to have it 
different now, though he loves us just as much as if 
he were to place his hands on us and heal us. We 
must believe that.” 

“ Did he always cure every one who asked him ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed ; he never refused one. Sometimes 
he would tell them, ‘ Thy sins are forgiven thee, go 
in peace.’ That showed them it was more impor- 
tant to have their sins forgiven than to have their 
bodies cured. There are two things certain. Tom- 
my: one is that we are all sinners — everybody, and 
you and I ; and the other is that if we ask him he 
wdll surely pardon our sins, just as he did those 
who came to him when he was on earth. Being up 
in heaven makes no difference with him about that 
at all.” 


Continuance in Well-doing. 


95 


The bell rung, and Susan IVIiller came for her lit- 
tle brother; but Annie was too much interested in 
her new acquaintances to allow this to be the first 
and last visit. She invited them pressingly to come 
again, and before bidding them good-by wrote 
down the street and number of their humble home. 
A few days after she requested her mother to send 
for Tommy. Accordingly a messenger was dis- 
patched, and, leaving word for his sister — with a 
neighbor — where he could be found, the little fel- 
low gladly accompanied him. 

Again he enjoyed the delightful musical box, and 
at Annie’s request Mrs. Cooper opened the long 
closed piano and played for him. This was also a 
new experience to the poor boy, who had never be- 
fore heard the instrument. ^Vhen Mrs. Cooper al- 
lowed him to pass his hands over the keys, his ran- 
dom touch made melody from the first. Then he 
slow ly struck a few chords, and finally, timidly and 
w ith hesitation, played with one hand a simple and 
familiar air. The applause and encouragement of 
Annie and her mother stimulated him to other ef- 
forts, and his auditors soon arrived at the conclu- 
sion that the little blind boy possessed musical gen- 
ius in no small degree. 

After that day his visits were frequent. By de- 
grees, and without any special agreement, a sort 
of system w'as observed. Annie had offered to 
teach him his letters and to spell, simply by ear; 


96 


The Do Society.” 


and she read to him some incident in the life of 
Christ, by his request, regularly. Once or twice 
she had read to him in the Old Testament; but 
nothing interested him as did the gospel narrative. 

“ Kead about Jesus when he w’as on earth,” was 
his usual form of request; and Annie found — and 
she was glad to know it — that the personality of the 
Saviour made the charm to him. 

After the reading and the talk that grew out of 
it, and the oral lesson. Tommy turned to his won- 
derful musical box and the piano. He soon at- 
tempted to reproduce the music of the one upon the 
other, and, as his natural shyness wore off, w’here 
these attempts were successful he would give way 
to his delight in clapping of hands and merry 
laughter. 

For a month this continued, and Annie was hap- 
py in the feeling that she was really doing good in 
teaching and making happy an afflicted child, who 
was far less blessed with earthly comforts than her- 
self. 

One afternoon Mr. Cooper came home earlier 
than usual, and, although he had been told of An- 
nie’s prot^g4, he was astonished at the musical tal- 
ent he displayed; and after Tommy had left he 
expressed the interest that he felt in him, and his 
intention of securing him a place in an asylum for 
the blind. 

“ I don’t think you can gain his father’s consent, 


Continuance in Well-doing. 


97 


papa,” said Annie. “ I asked his sister, and she said 
they had spoken of it, but their father was unwill- 
ing to be separated from him.” 

As Annie said this she was aware of a feeling of 
satisfaction at the decision of Mr. Miller. She had 
become so interested in teaching the child, had so 
enjoyed the consciousness that she was of use to him, 
hoping that in her daily Bible readings and talks 
she was leading him to Jesus, that the thought of 
ceasing her efforts was really painful to her. 

• “ Very selfish of him,” said Mr. Cooper positive- 
ly, and Annie felt that she deserved a portion of 
the condemnation; “very selfish. The man must 
surely be ignorant of the immense advantage it 
would be to his child. Even without this wonder- 
ful genius for music he should receive the education 
such an establishment gives, and learn one of the 
handicrafts, which will not only be a great resource 
to him, but an easy paid agreeable means of his 
earning a livelihood.” 

Every "word of her father convinced Annie that 
he was right, and that it was selfish and wrong in 
her to regret giving up her pupil. But she had 
felt as if the privilege of teaching him was an an- 
swer to her life-question, and that it was one thing 
she could do for her Lord, she — and her lip quiv- 
ered — she, w'ho could do so little henceforth; she, 
who was tied to her bed for life! 

Annie was decidedly low-spirited that evening. 

7 


98 


“The Do Society.’’ 


For the first time since her accident a feeling of 
discontent stole over her. Her cheerful tones were 
missed, and her brother’s witty sallies failed to elicit 
aught but a languid smile. Her head did ache, 
and so she said, when asked if she felt badly ; but 
she did not add that her heart ached much more. 
As her early bed-time approached, and her mother 
was assisting her in her preparations for the night, 
she said : “ Dear, let me read to you ; if your head 
aches I do not wish you to use your eyes. What 
chapter is it?” 

“ The second of Philippians, mother.” And she 
closed her eyes and turned her head wearily on her 
pillow. 

Mrs. Cooper began: “Let nothing be done 
through strife or vainglory.” Annie’s quick con- 
science took instant alarm. “Vainglory!” Was 
it possible she had* been guilty of that? “Look 
not every man on his own things, but every man 
also on the things of others,” which she had not 
done! She knew it would be far better for Tom- 
my to be placed in a blind asylum, but yet she had 
been unwilling to lose the pleasure of his visits, the 
feeling that she was doing him good. Was it not 
vainglorious thus to feel, thus to look on her “own 
things,” and not on his? But how could she ban- 
ish this selfishness? She did desire to feel right 
about it. 

Her mother read on : “ It is God which worketh 


Continuance in Well-doing. 


99 


in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure ; ” 
and immediately after : “ Do all things without 
murmurings.” She had received her answer; it 
was enough. 

“ Mother, please read those last verses over again, 
and that will do.” 

She had been murmuring that night; she saw it 
plainly now. But she remembered her first con- 
versation with Tommy; she had told him that ‘‘if 
we ask Jesus he will as surely pardon our sms as 
he did those who came to him when he was on 
earth.” She had tried him, and she knew the way 
to find him, the ever-living way. Tommy had re- 
gretted that he was no longer on earth, but Annie 
rejoiced. No need now of a pilgrimage to holy 
land anywhere ; everywhere could access be had to 
‘‘that same Jesus,” and faith and prayer could 
touch the “ hem of his garment,” and gain pardon 
and peace. “ It is God which worketh in you both 
to will,” so she would go to him, and ask him to 
work his will in her, to “let the mind be in her 
which was also in Christ Jesus,” and then she would 
be able truly “of his good pleasure” to feel and do 
only that which was “ well-pleasing in his sight.” 
And so this young Christian, having a true hope 
within her, endeavored to examine and “purify” 
herself as the “ beloved ” disciple directed ; and in 
God’s own time surely shall she experience the 
blessing promised to the “ pure in heart.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

RESULTS OF CHRISTIAN EFFORT. 

** T\ID you say that th6 boy’s name is Miller, and 
U that his father works at Pelham’s foundry? 
I pass right by the place, and will go in and see if 
I cannot convince the man of what an injustice he 
is doing his child.” So spoke Mr. Cooper the next 
morning, as he drew on his gloves, preparatory to 
going to his office. He was an energetic, kind- 
hearted man, who, when he became interested in 
any thing, liked to push it to completion. 

“I hope you will, father, and gain his consent to 
send Tommy at once to the asylum. I wdll send for 
him to-day, and try to reconcile him to leave his 
father and sister. I think if I tell him of the 
great benefit it will be to him he will be willing 
to go.” 

“ Do so, my daughter; and we will compare notes 
at dinner, and see which was most successful.” 

The shadow over Annie’s spirit had departed 
w’ith the night. She had simply given herself 
afresh to God, asking him to refine all that was 
unworthy in the sacrifice, and to cleanse her from 
secret sins; and peace reigned once more within, and 
set its signet on voice and features. 

( 100 ) 


Results of Christian Effort. 101 


As she thus meditated, her heart swelled with 
gratitude at the many mercies which surrounded 
her. Her room was beautiful, with every appoint- 
ment that wealth and taste could devise to cause 
her time to pass pleasantly and instructively. Pict- 
ures, busts, musical instruments, maps, charts, books 
and periodicals in lavish variety, many procured 
especially for her. She considered it one special 
blessing that her eyesight was quite uninjured, so 
that her passion for reading could still be indulged. 
Her studies had been resumed for several weeks, 
ber sister — who was highly educated and fully com- 
petent to the task — acting as teacher; a plan 
which the mother had devised, chiefly in order to 
divert the sad thoughts Mrs. Dabney so constantly 
indulged. 

Annie had been, in health, the center of her cir- 
cle ; and as soon as she was able to receive company 
her former associates had flocked to see her, offer- 
ing their sympathy and every delicate attention love 
could prompt. As she glanced around many ob- 
jects met her eye, speaking of the kindness of some 
friend — fruit, flowers, and fancy articles of various 
sorts, causing her brother once to remark that he 
was in doubt as to whether her room was a library, 
enlivened by these lighter articles, or a depot 
for bric-a-brac and floral display, with literature 
thrown in. 

When her little friend answered the summons 


102 


The Do Society. 


which brought him to Mrs. Cooper’s at an unusual 
hour, Annie did not immediately inform him of 
her object in sending for him. “Tommy,” she 
began, “papa enjoyed your playing yesterday so 
much, and he says you may be a famous musician 
one of these days. How w'ould you like that?” 

“Why, Miss Annie, you know I would like it 
better than any thing else in the world; but how 
can a poor blind boy like me ever expect to be any 
thing famous?” 

“ Indeed, you may be. Tommy. I don’t know a 
great deal about blind people, for I never felt in- 
terested in them till I knew you ; but I intend to 
read about them, and then I will tell you what 
many of them accomplished, because they w^ere in- 
dustrious, studious, and determined.” 

“Like wLat, Miss Annie?” 

“Well, they have become very learned in almost 
every branch of study. Some WTote poetry, some 
were musicians and composed music, others were 
lawyers, or ministers, or teachers in schools. There 
were generals who planned battles, and some blind 
persons have even painted pictures and carved in 
wood and marble. I heard my father and brother 
talking about it last night, although I do not know 
the names of the persons who were so celebrated.” 

“ It is wonderful. Miss Annie. I wish I could at 
least read.” 

“You can be taught that very easily. There 


Results of Christian Effort. 


103 - 


are places where kind people take care of blind 
children, and teach them to read and cipher and 
study many different things, as well as music, sing- 
ing, and performing upon instruments; also how 
to make baskets and various pretty articles — in fact, 
teach them trades by w’hich they can support them- 
selves. Would you not like to learn. Tommy?” 

“ Yes’m, that I would ; I would study real hard.” 

“And the good people are so kind to their pupils. 
There are beautiful grounds for them to play in. 
The houses are large and comfortable. They are 
w^ell fed and clothed, and very happy. Would you 
like to live there?” 

“You mean a blind-eye ’sylum. Miss Annie?” 

“That is not exactly the name,” said Annie, 
amused at his unconscious pun. “It is called a 
blind asylum.” 

“Father has talked about it; but he says he 
wonT let me go away from him. He doesn’t believe 
they do all they say, any how.” 

“Tommy, my father has gone to see yours to- 
day, to try to persuade him to let you go. He 
thinks you would be so much happier if you were 
being taught wdiat wull make you a useful man, 
able to support yourself, and not be dependent on 
charity when your father dies.” 

The boy was very grave; he was intelligent 
enough to understand and appreciate the force of 
what Annie had said. And the fact that a rich 


104 


The Do Society.' 


man like Mr. Cooper had interested himself about 
a poor little boy like him, and was advising him 
for his good, deeply impressed him. 

“ The reason I have told you all about it,” con- 
tinued Annie, “is because I hope you may be 
willing to go if your father consents. Will you?” 

“ I reckon so, Miss Annie ; but I must see sister 
first, and talk with her and father.” 

“ That is quite right. I did not mean to extort 
a promise from you without consulting them, by 
no means; I only meant, if they are willing will 
you be ? I am very sorry to give up my share of 
you,” she said, smiling. “ It has been a great pleas- 
ure to me to read and talk with you, but it will be 
much better for you in every w'ay to enter an 
asylum. They have Sunday - school there and 
preaching especially for the children, and you will 
be taught a great deal better than I can teach you. 
I hope you will learn fast, and be a fine scholar 
and a great musician ; but above all things I w^ant 
you to be a happy, useful Christian, and take Paul’s 
question for yours all your life. You remember I 
read it to you the other day — ‘Lord, what wdlt 
thou have me to do?’ Perhaps the Lord may 
make you a ‘chosen vessel’ to do good in the 
world. Nov/ let us read, it may be, for the last 
time; for, if your father consents, perhaps you can- 
not come to me again.” 

Then Tommy burst forth in one of his rare and 


Results of Christian Effort. 


lOo 


spontaneous expressions of confidence: “I don’t 
care, Miss Annie, where I go or what I learn, it 
will be you that taught me after all. You saw me 
ill the street, and brought me in and told me about 
Jesus, and talked to me so that I could understand 
every thing you said ; and if I do get an education 
at last, and can help myself as you tell me perhaps 
I may, it will be all owing to you, every bit of it. 
I do wish Jesus was on earth. I know he would 
cure you right off, for I believe I could be strong 
enough to carry you to him, and I’d cry out: 
‘Jesus, thou Son of David, have mercy on us!’ 
and then you know of coui’se he’d heal us.” 

“ I certainly believe he would, Tommy. But 
now I wish to read to you a part of the Bible I 
have never read to you before. Listen attentively, 
for it is about heaven — our beautiful home above — 
where there will be no pain nor sickness, nor any 
darkness, for the ‘ glory of God will lighten it, and 
the Lamb be the light thereof.’ ” 

When Annie read, “They shall see his face,” 
contrary to his custom, the child interrupted with 
a quick gesture of pleasure, and exclaimed: “O 
Miss Annie, I have often thought of that, and felt 
sure it would be so, but how good it is to hear the 
Bible say it! Now I am certain, for the promise 
is, ‘They shall see his face.’ Why, Miss Annie, 
every word in that promise is something to think 
over separately: ^ Shall! and 'see! and 'his face.' 


106 


“ The Do Society/' 


The face of Jesus! Don’t you think he Avill look 
just like he did -when he was on earth ?” 

“ Certainly, Tommy, Don’t you remember the 
angels told the disciples, who were gazing after 
him when he ascended to heaven after his resur- 
rection, that ‘ this same Jesus,' which was received 
by a cloud out of their sight, ‘would so come in 
like manner' at the end of the world, you know? 
Then there is another word in the promise we 
should think of very carefully; who are Hhey* who 
‘ shall see his face? ' " 

“ Did you not read ‘ his servants,' Miss Annie ? " 

“ Yes; it says ‘ his servants shall serve him, and 
they shall see his face.' I think that teaches us 
two things — first, that we are not real servants of 
God unless we serve him here; and then that we 
will continue to serve him after we get to heaven." 

“ So, if we serve him on earth,- we are sort of 
practicing what we will do better when we get to 
heaven. Isn't that so. Miss Annie?" 

“Yes; and if we wish to serve him here, and 
hereafter live in that beautiful, happy place, we 
must keep his commandments. Listen to this verse ; 
‘ Blessed are they that do his commandments, that 
they may have right to the tree of life, and may 
enter in through the gates into the city.' Now, 
Tommy, how can we do his commandments unless 
we know them ? and how can we know them unless we 
read God's holy book ? If you go to the asylum you 


Results of Christian Effort. 107 


will be taught to read it, and then you can study it 
as much as you please. Only think, if you should 
be sick or wakeful at- night, how pleasant it would 
be to run your fingers over the pages and find 
many sweet texts to think about and take away 
the weariness of being awake when all around are 
fast asleep ! ” 

Mr. Cooper’s rapid footfall was heard in the 
hall, and the next moment he entered the room. 
As his eye fell on Annie’s little companion, he 
said : “ Well, little daughter, what success have you 
had in persuading Tommy to agree to our plan for 
him?” 

“He is quite willing to go, I believe, papa, if 
his father consents.” 

“ Then it is all settled, for his father is willing 
if he is. And now, my little man, I am sure your 
life will be happier from to-day; and, so far from 
regretting your decision, I believe that the longer 
you live the more you will have cause to congrat- 
ulate yourself upon it. We shall expect you to 
improve your opportunities, and I have no doubt 
you will do credit to your instructors and justify 
the opinion and hopes we all entertain of you.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

ORGANIZING A SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 

T he summer was over. The leaves were falling 
from the elm-tree, whose grateful shade had 
served as a pleasant canopy under which Rosy and 
her young friends had spent many profitable and 
pleasant Sunday afternoons. But now, as the bare 
limbs tossed above them one cool afternoon in au- 
tumn, their warning to prepare for winter could 
not go unheeded. 

“ Papa,” said Rosy that night, as the family gath- 
ered around their hearth to enjoy the first fire of 
the season, “ I want to ask your advice.” 

“Well, daughter, what is it?” 

“ I want to know what can be done about our lit- 
tle Sunday afternoon gatherings. It was really un- 
comfortable under the elm-tree this afternoon. We 
talked it over to-day, and none of us are willing to 
discontinue our meetings; so what is to be done? 
We wish to go into ‘ winter-quarters’ — not the sort 
that disbands because of cold weather, but into some 
place warm and comfortable. What can you pro- 
pose, papa?” 

“ My dear, your mother and I have spoken of it 
(108) 


Organizing a Sunday-school. 


109 


more than once, and this afternoon we renewed the 
subject, for w’e do not wish your usefulness to stop. 
I do not see that we can do better at present than 
to let you have the house that we used as a kitchen 
before I built the store-room attached to the dining- 
room for your mother’s- convenience. It is used as 
a place of deposit for many articles, it is true; but I 
could carry the heavier things to the barn, and 
doubtless your mother could make room in the attic 
for the rest. It needs whitewashing, scouring, and 
seats, but I think w’e can accomplish all that.” 

“ That is a splendid arrangement, pajDa; the room 
is so large. I am so much obliged to you. But 
now I want to ask you a favor, a great favor, dear 
papa. I do hope you will grant it.” In her eager- 
ness she left her seat and approached his with the 
light of an earnest purpose in her face. 

“I cannot promise before I hear your request, 
daughter,” was the cautious reply, as he drew her 
on his knee. ‘‘That would be a very unwise pro- 
ceeding.” 

“ Papa, it is this: now that we can have a perma- 
nent place in which to meet, I want you to organ- 
ize us into a regular Sunday-school, and be our 
superintendent.” 

“Why, puss, I think ‘let well enough alone’ a 
very good adage. Your little elm-shade school 
has been a decided success. I never in my life saw 
such order, attention, increase of numbers, or punct- 


110 


The Do Society.’" 


uality in attendance in any regularly organized 
Sunday-school. I think those are elements of suc- 
cess often sought for in vain. Are you not afraid 
of making any change, lest you decrease the pros- 
perity and punctuality of your school?” 

“ Papa, dear, in the first place it doesn’t deserve 
the name of school at all. I have only tried to make 
my young neighbors better acquainted with the Bi- 
ble, and help them spend Sunday afternoons pleas- 
antly and profitably. I have just finished relating 
to them all the Bible stories; in fact, I have studied 
so I could put into that shape portions that are not 
given to us in that way, and I don’t wish to repeat 
it all again, I think a change in the mode of teach- 
ing would interest much more; besides, attending 
school for the past three months has enabled quite 
a number to read fluently, therefore they can now 
study lessons which they were not able to do when 
we began our meetings. If you will be superintend- 
ent, and open and close the school and teach a 
class of grown persons, I am sure they would come. 
Then mamma could take a class of large boys, and 
1 hope Miss Dora Thompson would take the large 
girls. She intends to continue her day-school all 
winter, and will board at old Mrs. Parker’s, only 
half a mile off. 1 would take the infant class, and 
we would have a well-organized Sunday-school. 
Please, papa, consent.” 

Mr. Lester was a good man, a sincere and hum- 


Organizing a Sunday-school. 


Ill 


ble Christian; but he was of a very retiring nature, 
silent, modest, and unassuming. He held regular 
family worship with his wife and children, but he 
had never led in prayer in any other company; for 
since his conversion he had lived in a thinly settled 
neighborhood, the church to which he belonged — 
and which, as has been said, he seldom attended — be- 
ing many miles away. The consistency of his young 
daughter in endeavoring to live up to the question 
which she had adopted to guide her life had struck 
him most forcibly. Not only on Sunday afternoons 
was it observable, but in every-day life. In many 
instances he had perceived it himself, and in many 
more learned through his wife of faithful discharge 
of homely, domestic duties,* of patience under disap- 
pointment and petty trials, which evinced a con- 
stancy of determination to live in the spirit of the 
words which she was often heard to sing in a low 
tone when she thought she was quite unnoticed, 

“ Whatever I do in any thing, 

May it be done for thee ! ” 

Mr. Lester’s conscience was awaking to the knowl- 
edge that he had never asked for himself the ques- 
tion which was animating the daily conduct of his 
little daughter. He felt that his was in a great de- 
gree a negative religion; that he had been content 
in endeavoring to lead a blameless life, and had not 
looked around to see what could do for his Mas? 
ter. Therefore, even while he ans^yered Rosy’s ap- 


112 


The Do Society.” 


peal somewhat playfully, he became painfully con- 
scious that she was right, and that his duty was 
plainly set before him. Painfully conscious, be- 
cause of his extreme timidity, it would be a heavy 
cross for him to thus thrust himself forward as he 
considered it. Whosoever doth not bear his cross 
and come after me, cannot be my disciple.” Plain- 
ly did the Holy Spirit “bring to his remembrance” 
this solemn declaration. He could not disregard it. 

Mrs. Lester said *. “ Husband, Rosy is right. I 
think the time has come for what she proposes. 
The dear child has prepared the way and helped to 
answer the question, What will the Lord have us to 
do? For my part, I will be glad to assist in the 
proposed Sunday-school, and I have faith to believe 
that God will bless our efforts.” 

“ So have I, Cornelia. I will go into it heartily, 
* as unto the Lord.’ ” 

Rosy threw her arms around her father’s neck, 
and her delight manifested itself in the very natu- 
ral, childish way of a good hug. 

After Rosy had bidden her parents good-night 
and left the room, her mother remarked . “As you 
read the chapter at prayers, husband, one clause 
seemed peculiarly suitable to our experience to- 
night, although the earth is not yet ‘full of the 
knowledge of the Lord.’” 

“And what was that, wife?” 

“It was, ‘And a little child shall lead them.’” 


Organizing a Sunday-school. 


113 


A few weeks afterward the followiug letter 
brought pleasure one day to Annie Cooper : 

Elmwood Cottage. 

My Dear Cousm Annie: You have expressed so much in- 
terest in our little gatherings under the elm-tree on Sun- 
day afternoons through the past summer, that 1 am sure of 
your joyful sympathy in what I shall tell you to-day. 

Three weeks ago, one cool day, we became convinced that 
we could not meet any more out-of-doors, and the question 
was, Where should we meet? for meet we must. Not one of 
us would agree to any thing else. In talking it over with 
papa and mamma it was decided that we could move the 
contents of our large, old-fashioned kitchen in the yard, 
which has been used only as a lumber-room for several 
years, and clean it up for the purpose. You may suppose 
I was delighted at this, but far more when papa was per- 
suaded to organize us into a regular Sunday-scliool, and to 
be our superintendent and teacher. Mamma also consent- 
ed to take a class. I knew we should have pupils enough as 
soon as our arrangements and accommodations were known. 

Early the next morning Harry, Lucy, and I went to 
work. We had a week before us, it was true; but six days 
pass quickly away, and we wished to have the house ready 
without fail. Papa heard us, and came out to help move 
the heavy articles. When we had emptied the house, 
brushed down the cobwebs, and carefully swept, we felt that 
we had accomplished a great deal. When we went to 
school and told our new plan, every one was anxious to 
help. Miss Dora said she would give us a half holiday 
the next afternoon, so we could get the house ready, for 
fear it might rain the latter part of the week. It would 
have amused you tb have seen us all at work that Tuesday 
afternoon. Half a dozen large girls were busily engaged in 
8 


114 


“The Do Society.’" 


washing window-glasses and scouring the floor, while as 
many large boys were whitewashing within and without, 
and a small brigade were sweeping the yard around on all 
sides. Mamma says she reaped the benefit of that, for the 
children were in such a sweeping mood they drew no limits 
for the school-house yard, but swept out even to the *^big 
road^’ 

1 should have mentioned that Miss Dora said she would 
gladly take a class, and the children promised to extend 
the notice of the new Sunday-school as far as they were 
able, or, as Delia Moore expressed it, ^'norrate it all through 
the settlement.” The consequence was that on our “ open- 
ing day ' we were encouraged by the presence of at least 
ten married persons and thirty younger ones and children. 
We organized, classified, and had a most satisfactory ses- 
sion. Each family had contributed and sent in during the 
week a few chairs or a long bench, so we had seats enough 
and to spare. Mamma placed a small table at one end of 
the room; so our modest needs w^ere all supplied, with the 
exception of Bibles, lesson and hymn books. A very im- 
portant exception, doubtless, you think, and so did we; but 
we had to meet once before we could take any action in 
the matter. 

Papa represented to all present how important these 
books were to successfully conduct our school, and asked 
each one to subscribe to assist in procuring them. Enough 
was at once promised to warrant us in ordering them, and 
true to promise the next Sunday the money was forth-com- 
ing. So our little school, owing no man any thing, has 
fairly started on what we trust may be a career of great 
usefulness. 

You can well understand, dear cousin, how grateful and 
happy I am to see the little rill that took its rise under our 
dear old elm-tree four months ago widen and deepen into 


Organizing a Sunday-school. 


115 


a fast-flowing brook. I pray God the stream may grow un- 
til it becomes a mighty river, and flows at last into the 
ocean of eternity, bearing on its bosom many precious ran- 
somed souls. 

There is a large field around us in which to work for Je- 
sus, and I intend to pray on and “do the next thing” as 
faithfully as I can, as each step opens before me. When 
papa and mamma took hold I felt as if my work, or rather 
my responsibility, was about over in regard to the Sunday- 
school. I told mamma so; but she replied that she be- 
lieved my work was only begun, and reminded me of 
Jesus’ words, “What would ye that I should do for 
you?” and repeated, 

“ Thou art coming to a King- 
Large petitions with thee bring, 

For his power and love are such 
Thou canst never ask too much.” 

Then papa told me of how much more ready Jesus is to 
give than we are to receive; of how Abraham’s prayers for 
Sodom were answered until he left ofi* asking; of how much 
more complete would have been the victory of the King of 
Israel over Syria had he not staid his hand after striking 
thrice only upon the ground; of how the flow of oil ceased 
not until the widow’s son replied, “ There is not a vessel 
more;” of the promise in the Psalms, “Open thy mouth 
wide, and I will fill it;” and of Jesus’ own conditions, so 
often repeated, “According to your faith, be it unto you?” 
Yes, our little song is true: 

“ More and more. 

More and more, 

Always more to follow ; 

O his matchless, boundless level 
Still there’s more to follow.” 

I am so glad, dear Annie, that your general health is good, 


116 


“The Do Society.” 


and your attacks of pain less frequent and severe. Your 
letters are enjoyed by each member of our liome-circle, and 
we feel a keen interest in all that interests you. Your lit- 
tle blind boy has often been a topic of conversation with us, 
and we hope his improvement will be gratifying to you, and 
that he may develop into all you wish. I need not assure 
you that prayers for those you hold dear mingle with the 
ones for those I love best. Let us continue to unite our pe- 
titions in this way till all the members of our families are 
happy Christians. Pray for our little Sunday-school too, 
dear Annie. I am so anxious for the girls to whom I have 
talked all summer to experience in their own hearts the 
love of that J esus of whom I have told them. I yearn for 
a revival, such as we had at E. last summer, and that is 
what I tell the Lord I would that he should do for me — 
for us all. God bless you, sweet cousin, and be with you 
every hour! Your loving Bosy. 


CHAPTER XHI. 

MINISTERING IN LOVE TO OTHERS. 

T he merry chatter of young girls filled Annie’s 
bright and cheerful room. It was a sunny day 
of early winter, and the glow of the fire diffused a 
grateful warmth within, while the crisp, cool air 
without rendered active exercise a luxury to all 
who could indulge in it. Each face was rosy and 
radiant with youth and animation, and Annie, 
the center of the group, turned her pale face from 
one to another in loving welcome. 

They w^ere the members of her Sunday-school 
class, and, as she w’as unable to meet w ith them, 
they came to her once a week ; at first only a social 
visit without any definite aim, but for several 
months they had had in view an object which en- 
listed their interest and industry. Their teacher. 
Miss Kate Clifton, was also a teacher in a mission- 
school in one of the poorest portions of the city. 
In order to engage them — educated and intelligent 
as they were — in active Christian service, she had 
persuaded them to take classes there also. By de- 
grees the labor of their hands was added to their 
Sunday-school w’ork, thus giving them greater influ- 
ence over the “ little heathen at their door,” who, 

( 117 ) 


118 


“ The Do Society.” 

Y/hen they received the “ coats and garments,” which 
these young imitators of Dorcas had made for them-, 
believed more readily in the law of love which they 
taught. One afternoon in every week they met in 
Annie’s sitting-room, and while their fingers moved 
deftly their tongues kept time, and a happier band 
was never seen. 

Neither was their talk altogether in the channel 
of girlish fun and fancy; enough of the earnest- 
ness of life was mingled wdth it to show that they 
thought and felt far below the service of their mer- 
riment. They never parted without one of their 
number taking her seat at the piano and their 
voices blending in the sacred songs, which in such 
beauty and variety are a prominent feature in Sun- 
day-school work in this favored age Almost with- 
out exception Miss Kate would come in before 
they dispersed, and by her presence add to their 
enjoyment; then kneeling beside the couch of her 
beloved pupil, she would lead in prayer, simple and 
affectionate, which solemnized and elevated each 
young heart. 

This afternoon the girls had hardly divested them- 
selves of their wraps before they began to pour 
into Annie’s willing ear accounts of a new plan 
which was not yet perfected. 

“ Annie, we are going to have a Christmas-tree 
at the mission,” said one. 

“And a feast,” said another. 


Ministering in Love to Others. 119 


** It \vas only decided on Sunday,” said a third. 

“And we shall have to work fast and hard to get 
ready.” 

“We have not determined whether to have it in 
the day or at night.” 

“A tree looks so much prettier at night when 
lighted up.” 

“ But day-time is the best for the little ones.” 

And so, all talking at once, time was slipping by, 
till Claude Stanley, the oldest and most matured 
of the band, reminded them of that fact. Then 
there was a bustle of preparation for work, and in 
a few moments the^ click of knitting-needles, the 
metallic ring of scissors, the glancing to and fro 
of needles, and the noiseless gleam of crochet-hooks 
demanded attention. A little apart was a sewing- 
machine, which did its work so quietly that the 
fair young girl who operated it could also join in 
the conversation. 

“ Ida, let me see your work,” said Annie. “ To 
whom do you intend to give this sack? ” 

“To the little orphan girl I told you of. She 
lives with her aunt, who can hardly afford her own 
children sufficient clothing, and yet will not part 
with her dead sister’s child.” 

“ Did not Miss Kate try to persuade her to place 
her in an orphan asylum ? ” 

“ Yes ; she presented to her in the most persuasive 
manner the advantages the child would have, but 


120 


The Do Society. 


without success; consequently the little thing is but 
scantily clothed, and I doubt not her fare is meager.’^ 

“As your sack is blue, I think I shall have to give 
her this hood that I am crocheting, for it is just 
the shade.” 

“ Yes, and will be st> becoming to the little creat- 
ure: she is light, with blue eyes and sunny curls. 
Annie, how much you do accomplish ! ” 

“ She is a pattern of industry to all,” said Claude. 

“Do you ever hold your hands?” asked Nettie 
White, turning from her machine and waiting for 
the answer. 

“I have never caught her doing it,” declared 
Olive Hastings, Annie’s most intimate friend, “ and 
I believe I see her oftener than any of you.” 

Annie laughed. “ Why, girls, what else can I do ? 
I can’t read all the time. It would not be polite 
when I have company, or at evenings when papa 
or brother Alfred is at home. Besides, I can knit 
a great deal without looking at it, while the cro- 
chet-work is so fascinating that it is positively enter- 
taining, and the netting almost does itself.” 

“But does it not tire you, dear, while lying on 
your back, to use your arms so constantly?” asked 
Miss Clifton, who had joined the party. 

“ It did at first, but I have long since become ac- 
customed to it. See! I rest my elbows so; and as 
one kind of v/ork proves monotonous, I take up an- 
other. Then I have this convenient book-holder, 


Ministering in Love to Others. 121 


which is a perfect re«t to my arms when I am read* 
ing ; all I have to do is simply to turn the page.’^ 
‘‘Annie,” said Olive Hastings, “you make me 
think of the ‘ changed cross/ You remember in that 
beautiful little poem the author confesses that, hav- 
ing become discontented with her cross, she seeks to 
find another less grievous; but, contrary to all ap- 
pearances, those she had thought so light w^ere far 
heavier than her own, which she was glad once 
more to resume. Your cross seems to fit you so 
easily, and you are so bright and joyful, I fancy 
that any other would be heavier.” 

“I think so too, Olive; and, indeed, I do not 
wish to try any other. I am quite content. Some- 
times I feel so surrounded by blessings that, when 
I reflect on other suflTerers far less favored, I think 
I should not consider it a cross at all, or rather I 
do not then feel its weight.” 

“ What is that line about Christ our Lord bearirg 
The heaviest end and all the weight. 

While leading on before?” 

suggestively asked Emmie Herbert, the youngest 
and quietest girl in the room 

“ Yes, dear, that is true. He is our burden-bear- 
er,” said their teacher; “ and it has been remarked 
that when our will lies athwart God’s will, then 
only do we feel the cross; but when it 13 parallel 
wdth his, we do not. God’s service is indeed its 
own exceeding great reward.” 


122 


The Do Society.’ 


A fresh young voice warbled forth, “All the 
way, my Saviour leads me,” and was immediately 
joined by her companions. Annie’s voice mingled 
with theirs, and her heart thrilled with happiness 
and trust as she sung: 

“ For I know wliate’er befalls me, 

Jesus doetli all things well.” 

Miss Clifton softly said, “Let us pray;” and their 
hour of work, praise, and prayer was over, having 
brought a blessing to each in its complete informal- 
ity and hearty Christian spirit. 

The young workers had been gone but a little 
while, and Annie, left alone for a few, moments was 
reflecting upon the recent conversation, when the 
door opened, and her sister, Mrs. Dabney, walked 
slowly in. Her heavy crape veil was still drawn 
over her face, and her whole manner indicated the 
utmost dejection. 

As she approached, Annie held out her hand to 
her, for she remembered that it was the anniversary 
of her husband’s death, and knew that her heart 
Avas very sore. Mrs. Dabney sunk on her knees 
beside her young sister, buried her face on her 
shoulder, and gave way to a paroxysm of grief. 

“One year ago to-day!” she exclaimed, as An- 
nie’s gentle caresses and words of love Avere be- 
stowed upon her all unheeded. At last Avith a 
great effort she spoke. 

“ How selfish I am to intrude my grief upon 


Ministering in Love to Others. 123 


you, dear patient little sister. It seems like sacri- 
lege thus to disturb your heavenly calm. Pray 
forgive me; for my visit to the cemetery, with all its 
harrowing recollections, has completely unnerved 
me.’’ 

She moved as though to rise, but Annie threw 
her arm around her and gently detained her. 

“ Don’t go, sister ; stay with me. See, I am alone, 
and twilight is approaching — a sweet time to whisper 
in confidence together. I have had such a happy 
afternoon. We talked about crosses and Jesus be- 
ing our burden-bearer, guiding us all through life, 
and doing ‘ all things well.’ O sister, if you only 
felt this! If you only would cast your burden upon 
him, he would sustain you; indeed he would.” 

Annie, I fear I never can. He will not com- 
fort me until I say, ‘ Thy will be done,’ and I am 
as far from saying that as I have ever been. I 
know in my inmost heart that I am still as rebell- 
ious as I was the day my husband died.” 

Annie felt powerless to stem the full current of 
her sister’s grief. She knew it was best to allow it 
to exhaust itself by its very violence; so keeping 
her arm arouijd her, she drew her still closer and 
waited for her sobs to subside. As she grew quiet- 
er, Annie said : “ Sister, I had hoped so much from 
your visiting among the poor. You have appeared 
interested in various cases, and I thought the sight of 
their wretchedness would divert you from your own.” 


124 


“ The Do Society.” 


“So it does, dear, while I am in their presence; 
but no longer. My burden is no lighter for attempt- 
ing to lift theirs. I am all wrong. I feel it, but I 
cannot help it. I suppose mine is a case of ‘ the 
good that I would I do not, but the evil which I 
would not, that I do;’ ” and a faint, sad smile strug- 
gled to her lips. “ I know I am not actuated by 
the right motive. I first visited the poor only to 
gratify you, as you very w’ell know, darling; at 
your request and in your stead, because you could 
not go and yet heard of so many cases you wished 
investigated and assisted. It w^as impossible for me 
to be with you so constantly, dear little sister, and 
not be im.pressed by the earnest desire that actuates 
you to do good. To witness the happiness which that 
feeling gives you is to envy it; so that was another 
motive which sent me out to relieve the poor and 
distressed. In reading the Bible to you, too, I have 
noticed so many texts that encourage me to be active 
in this wTiy — for instance, ‘ Who will render to every 
man according to his deeds;' and so I have gone on 
from week to w^eek, and while it has been a satis- 
faction to me to know that I have helped the needy, 
I have not been helped as I hoped I would have 
been. This morning I read a verse that has dis- 
couraged me. It is this : ‘ AVhen ye shall have done 
all those things which are commanded you, say. We 
are unprofitable servants; we have done that which 
was our duty to do.’ I fear I never shall gain the 


Ministering in Love to Others. 125 


comfort I set out to seek when I began to work for 
the poor.” 

Annie listened to her sister attentively, praying 
with all her heart that God would teach her what 
to say in reply. As Mrs. Dabney ceased, she said 
slowly and very tenderly: “ Dear sister, I think I 
understand your trouble. You have not begun 
right. You have tried to work from without in- 
ward, instead of first being at peace with God and 
then ‘ doing the will of God from the heart.^ You 
said you were impressed by my desire to do good and 
the happiness which the feeling gave me. Indeed it 
does, but I have a deeper source of happiness than 
that. If I know my own heart, it is because I love 
God, and would please him, that I wish to work 
for him. I want to ‘ do all in the name of the Lord 
Jesus.’ ” 

“ That is the foundation of the difference between 
us then, I suppose,” replied Mrs. Dabney ; for I can- 
didly confess that I have done all in some degree as 
a duty, but chiefly hoping to have my load light- 
ened, and with no warmth of love at my heart.” 

“ Poor dear sister ! ” said Annie, with trembling 
voice ; “ duty alone is cold and hard, but love bright- 
ens and makes it easy. Jesus came to save us for 
love, not from duty. He said, ‘ I delight to do thy 
will, O my God,*’ and the Father sent him, because 
‘ God so loved the world.’ If we love him, duty 
will not be a task; for ‘love is the fulfilling of 


126 


The Do Society.” 


the law.’ But O sister! we must love him, we 
must have faith in him, or we cannot please him 
and be happy.” 

“ It is well for you to say that, because you al- 
ready possess that loving faith; but I do not. I 
■svould gladly spend my whole time in doing good 
deeds, welcoming fatigue as a boon, if I could real- 
ize true happiness thereby.” 

“ Dearest sister, you have transposed the whole 
matter. Good deeds do not come first; indeed, 
they are not sufficient. Remember, by ‘ grace are 
ye saved through faith,’ * not of works, lest any man 
should boast.’ And again, ‘a man is justified by 
faith without the deeds of the law.’ ” 

“Annie, you have studied the Bible so much since 
yOur accident, it is easy for you to quote Scripture 
to me. I wish I could see and feel it as you do.” 

“I pray God to make it plain to you, dear sister, 
for faith is his gift, and it must precede works to 
make them well-pleasing in God’s sight ; then, when 
we have faith, we shall surely perform the works, 
for * faith without wwks is dead.’” 

Picking up her Bible, and rapidly turning the 
leaves, she held it toward the window, and through 
the fading light read : “ ‘ Then said they unto him. 
What shall we do, that we might work the w^orks 
of God? Jesus answered and said unto them. 
This is the work of God, that ye believe on him 
whom he hath sent.’ And, sister, you know the 


Ministering in Love to Others. i27 


Philippian jailer cried out, ‘ Sirs, what must I do to 
be saved?’ and Paul said, ^Believe on the Lord Je- 
sus Christ; ’ then, after he believed, he did tlu good 
'work of washing the apostles’ stripes and setting 
meat before them. Zaccheus also did his good 
deeds of generosity and restitution after he had re- 
ceived Jesus ‘joyfully;’ w’hile, on the other hand, 
the Pharisee, boasting of his good deeds, was reject- 
ed, and the poor publican, in his humility crying, 
‘ God be merciful to me a sinner,’ was accepted.” 

“TAa<, at least, can be my prayer,” said Mrs. 
Dabney in a broken voice, rising from beside her 
sister as a servant entered the room to mend the 
fire. 

“I wish to be alone, and do not "want supper. 
Let no one disturb me, please.” 

Some hours after, as Mr. Cooper rolled his young- 
er daughter’s couch into the adjoining bed-room, 
Mrs. Dabney w^as sitting quietly by the fire, a large 
Bible resting upon her lap. 

“Alice, your mother had a headache to-night, and 
has retired, so I turn our pet lamb over to you.” 

Mrs. Dabney arose and in the gentlest manner, 
with a bright, tender look upon her face, threw 
her arms in silence about her father’s neck and 
raised her lips to his. Mr. Cooper was surprised, 
not at the caress — for they were an affectionate fam- 
ily, and it was her custom to salute him night and 
morning — but at her manner. The gloom which 


128 


“The Do Society.' 


had shadowed her for a twelvemonth was gone, 
and yet the brightness that had taken its place 
was not her old-time girlish, thoughtless joyfulness. 
It was a look of peace and rest, to him as sweet 
and touching as it was inexplicable. He made no 
comment or inquiry, however — simply kissed her 
tenderly, and with a “ Good-night, my darlings,” 
left the room. 

Annie had seen her sister’s action and noticed the 
expression on her face. As the door closed behind 
their father, she reached forth her arms to Alice, 
and exclaimed: “Sister! sister! you are happy at 
last!” Mrs, Dabney came close to her, and knelt 
again by her side; but this time not in tears, for the 
glory of the light wdthin shone clear and bright 
through the Mvindows of her soul’ as she said: 
“ Little sister, I thank you next to God for my 
present joy. I have proved that ‘ faith is the gift 
of God,’ and I ‘ love him because he first loved me.’ 
The answer came to me through this Scripture — I 
can quote it,” she said smilingly, “ for I have read 
it till every word is sunk into my heart: ‘I^ow the 
God of peace make you perfect in every good work 
to do his will, working in you that which is well- 
pleasing in his sight, through Jesus Christ; to whom 
be glory forever und ever. Amen.’ ” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

STILL IMPROVING OPPORTUNITIES. 

daughter/’ said Dr. Glover one lovely day 

IVi in October, “ I am about to drive out to Mag- 
nolia Mills. Would you like to go?” 

“ Yes, indeed, father; I have not seen the factory 
since it was in operation. I’ll be ready in one mo- 
ment.” And disappearing in the house she soon re- 
turned with hat and gloves and took her seat beside 
him, remarking as she tucked the lap-robe about 
her, “I only ran in to tell grandmother where we 
are going.” 

“ I have been intending to take you out with me 
before, but it has never been convenient; indeed, I 
have been out there but once myself. With the ex- 
ception of this call I have had but one other — to a 
little child who was not seriously sick. They have 
had a wonderful health record.” 

“How many operatives are there, father?” 

“ Between eighty and one hundred, I understand ; 
but of course their families number many more.” 

“ They have been at work a month, I think.” 

“About three w^eeks; although the mill is not 
running at its full capacity yet.” 

“Is not that beautiful, father?” exclaimed Ella, 
9 ( 129 ) 


130 


The Do Society.” 


as a turn in the road revealed a scene fully calcu- 
lated to excite her enthusiasm. Their way had 
wound for a half-mile by the river-side, and fre- 
quently at the base of high hills which had sloped to 
its edge, but for the road which had been carefully 
graded near the water. The woods which covered 
the hill-side, aud spread far away on the opposite 
shore of the river, were gorgeous with the rich and 
varied hues of autumn coloring; and as the rays of 
the afternoon sun shone through the gold-and- 
crimson leaves, the effect was indescribably beauti- 
ful. The stream, here bending and twisting in a 
tortuous route, dashed over rocks, eddied around 
bowlders, and fumed and foamed against sharp 
angles, while in the distance was seen the new fac- 
tory, boldly outlined against the sky, every window 
aflame with the reflection of the setting sun. Neat 
white cottages nestled under its shadows, like the 
residences of vassals beneath the protective care of 
some ancient feudal castle, while the tall magnolia- 
trees, from which the name of the mills w’as de- 
rived, stood like sentinels keeping guard over all. 

“A most picturesque scene,” remarked Dr. Glo- 
ver — adding, with a thought of the practical, “A 
splendid water-power ; ” and, with the instinct of 
his profession, “A very healthy locality.” 

Father,” said Ella, after gazing intently at the 
little village, “ I see nothing like a church. Surely 
Mr. Singleton intends to erect one.” 


Still Lmpiioving Opportunities. 131 


“ Doubtless he will, but I am surprised that he 
has not already done so.’^ 

“ The distance to E. is far too great for his opera- 
tives to attend church there.” 

Their conversation ceased as Dr. Glover drove 
up to the door of one of the cottages, and a tall 
young man in his shirt-sleeves came out to meet 
him and take charge of his horse. 

I am glad you came so promptly, doctor,” said 
he ; “ mother is suffering a great deal, and all my 
simple remedies have failed to relieve her. Please 
go in at once.” 

Entering the house, Dr. Glover approached the 
bed upon which was lying an elderly woman, evi- 
dently in great suffering. In a few w'ords she told 
him her trouble, which he immediately undertook 
to relieve, and with such success that in fifteen 
minutes his remedies had made her comforta- 
ble. 

“ I think you are entirely over the attack, Mrs. 
Watson ; but should you have a return of the symp- 
toms, take twenty drops of this liquid in a little 
water — say two or three tablespoonfuls — every two 
hours until they disappeai’.” 

Her son, who w^as affectionately stroking his 
mother’s gray hair from her brow, now said : “ Doc- 
tor, I am very grateful to you for relieving her so 
quickly. It was very hard for me to witness her 
sufferings.” 


132 


“The Do Society/ 


Dr. Glover, much pleased v.ith this expression 
of filial affection, regarded the young man with 
closer attention than he had hitherto bestowed upon 
him. He saw an erect, well-knit figure; a frank, 
intelligent countenance, united with an air of firm- 
ness and self-reliance which at once prepossessed 
him in his favor. 

“Yes, poor fellow, he would gladly have borne 
the pain for me, I know,” said the mother, casting 
a look of love upon her son. “ Doctor, we are all 
in all to each other.” 

“You have no other children, madam?” 

“No, sir; all have gone before us. I have four 
waiting for me in the better land.” 

“ I hope, my young friend,” said Dr. Glover, ad- 
dressing the son, “ that you are ready to join them 
when your summons comes.” 

“ I trust so, indeed, sir,” was the reply. 

“ I am truly glad to hear it,” w^as the cordial re- 
sponse. “ Situated as you are, your opportunities 
for influence among your fellow-w^orkmen must be 
very great.” 

“ They are, sir; and I desire to make use of them. 
We have already begun to hold cottage prayer- 
meetings. We need a church badly, however. 
Young Mr. Morton, of your town, came out last 
Sunday afternoon to preach for us, and he greatly 
felt the inconvenience of having no room large 
enough to hold his audience.” 


Still Improving Opportunities. 133 


“ But Mr. Siogleton intends to build a house of 
worship, does he not?” 

I think not, sir. It is generally thought that, 
if not an unbeliever in the claims of Christian re- 
ligion, he is certainly utterly indifferent to them.” 

“ Probably if he knew it was the desire of his 
employes he would gratify them,” suggested the 
doctor. 

“ Several of us spoke to him on the subject, sir; 
but he gave us very little satisfaction — alluded to 
the great expense he had been at, and said he did 
not care to incur more.” 

“ You surprise me. The cost of a simple frame 
building would add but little to the outlay here. 
A church would be invaluable as a conservator of 
the contentment and morals of the people.” 

Dr. Glover was now obliged to leave; so, bid- 
ding Mrs. Watson and her son “ good-evening,” he 
assisted Ella into the buggy, and they drove away. 

“ I wonder, father, if there are many like young 
Watson at the factory,” was Ella’s first remark. 

“ I do not know, dear ; I have not become ac- 
quainted yet. He is a young man of strong char- 
acter, I take it, and may be a powerful factor for 
good among his associates.” 

“ They ought to have a Sunday-school there and 
church-service regularly. I wish it Avas not so far 
out of town. If it Avas only Avithin Avalking dis- 
tance I Avould propose to the members of our Young 


134 


^‘The Do Society.' 


Ladies’ Band to organize a Sunday-school. What 
do you think of it, father?” 

“ It is certainly quite a distance, but there is no 
doubt of the fact that it is all-important for them 
to have a school and regular church-service. If 
they have not sufficient material among themselves 
for teachers, then they should be assisted; but if 
there are enough like young Watson to conduct it, 
they Avill not need help. I doubt not that he would 
make a capital superintendent.” 

Do you know this Mr. Singleton, father? ” 

I have seen him on the street, but have never met 
him. I understand he has at the hotel with him 
a little daughter, I suppose about seven years of 
age.” 

“ I wish you knew him ; possibly you might say 
something to cause him to change his mind and 
build a church. As he is to live in the community, 
it seems to me he would like to do what the promi- 
nent citizens approved — if it was right, I mean, of 
course; and that act certainly would be.” 

“ You feel that way, daughter, but it is all guess- 
work about a stranger — ” 

“Well, Jim, what is it?” He reined up his 
horse as a young man beckoned to him from the 
sidewalk, for they had returned to the village 
again. 

“ I only want to save you a longer drive, doctor. 
I am just from your part of town, and as I passed 


Still Improving Opportunities. 135 


your gate Jack Perkins came out, having been 
after you to come to Mr. Singleton’s little daughter. 
They are boarding at the hotel, you know, in the 
opposite direction from your place.” 

“ Thank you, Jim; you are very considerate. I 
am glad I met you.” 

“ What a coincidence, father ! ” 

My dear, it may be a providential opportunity 
for the accomplishment of the very thing we desire. 
I don’t know w'hat manner of man Singleton is, or 
how he is influenced, but we can at least” — 

“ Doe the nexte thynge,” archly interposed 
Ella. 

Leaving his daughter in the buggy upon reach- 
ing the hotel. Dr. Glover went in to see his patient. 
Returning after an absence of some length, he told 
her that it was a serious case. “One in which I 
am sure your services will be needed, and most ac- 
ceptable. The symptoms, while not thoroughly 
developed, indicate, I think unmistakably, scarlet 
fever. As you have had the disease you are in no 
danger. Are you willing to become her nurse? ” 

“ Why, certainly, father. Poor little motherless 
child ! who else could attend to her as well ? ” 

“ Think a moment, though, what it will involve. 
You will have to be completely isolated from other 
company, for I wish to establish as strict a quaran- 
tine as the nature of the case wdll admit. It has 
. been many years since scarlet fever was epidemic 


136 


“'The Do Society.” 


in E., and there is abundant food for its ravages 
should it spread.” 

“ That should certainly be guarded against, and 
I am ready to act entirely under your advice in 
the matter. I will gladly isolate myself complete- 
ly, if necessary.” Ella spoke promptly and cheer- 
fully, for her quick ear and instinct had recognized 
the little conflict between the father — desirous of 
her comfort — and the physician, loyal to the best 
interests of his patient. 

“How do you propose to manage it?” she asked. 

“ I think of nothing better than to bring her to 
our house. The weather is beautiful. I think that 
W'ith care she can be driven over in the mornins: 
■with perfect safety ; in fact, she will be compelled 
to move, for Mr. Perkins, in justice to the other 
boarders and his own family, would not be willing 
for her to remain.” 

“ Have you proposed this to Mr. Singleton, fa- 
ther?” 

“Not yet; I thought it would but increase his 
anxiety if he knew the character of the fever. The 
nursing to-night requires no skill. To-morrow 
morning we will go in the close carriage and move 
her quietly, not allowing her to be excited by an- 
ticipations.” 

Early the next morning Ella and her grand- 
mother w'ere astir preparing rooms for their ex- 
pected guests, every thing being ready for their 


Still Improvino OppoRTu^^IT^Es. 137 


reception when the carriage was driven to the 
door. 

A glance at his little patient revealed to Dr. 
Glover’s experienced eye that his diagnosis of her 
case had been correct. “ I have brought my 
daughter to see you, Minnie. Would you like her 
to nurse you while you are sick?” 

The little girl’s large blue eyes quickly flashed 
a look of inquiry into Ella’s face, meeting her gen- 
tle smile; and reassured by the soft touch of her 
cool hand upon her forehead, she answered prompt- 
ly: “Yes, sir.’^ 

“ Well, then, we have come for you. We wish to 
carry you home with us, where we can take good 
care of you, and where you will be away from the 
noise and confusion of a hotel.” 

“And papa?” inquired the little one. 

“We shall invite him, too,” was the answer; and 
turning to Mr. Singleton, Dr. Glover continued : 
“ We shall be happy to have you both as our guests 
as long as your little girl is sick.” 

“ Why, doctor, you overpower me with your 
kindness. I know not how to accept it.” 

“You can do it very easily,” was the pleasant 
response, “for my carriage is at the door, and 
rooms are already prepared for you under my 
roof.” 

“And you think it safe — important — for Minnie 
to be moved 2 ” 


138 


The Do SocietyJ 


*^Very” was the emphatic reply; and, observing 
that Ella was talking cheerfully to the sick child, 
he motioned the father to a little distance, and said 
in low tones : “ She has scarlet fever, Mr. Singleton, 
and as soon as it is known your removal from the 
hotel will be insisted upon by the proprietor. I 
wish to remove her quietly before any alarm is 
given, and now, in this particular stage of the dis- 
ease, thus avoiding any thing like panic, and at the 
same time taking as little risk as possible in carry- 
ing her out-of-doors.” 

Mr. Singleton grasped the doctor warmly by 
the hand, exclaiming: “My gratitude is doubled 
because of the peculiar circumstances! I cannot 
hesitate, sir, to accept your hospitality so freely of- 
fered.” 

Rapid yet quiet preparations were made for im- 
mediate removal. Dr. Glover counseling Mr. Sin- 
gleton to clear the room of all his effects, so that 
Mr. Perkins could lose no time in having it prop- 
erly disinfected. 

Ella moved about the apartment noiselessly, yet 
with most efficient touches aiding in packing up 
and bestowing all articles belonging to her little 
charge; then making the necessary changes in her 
dress, in a few moments she declared their readi- 
ness to leave. Mr. Singleton lifted his little girl 
in his arms and deposited her on the soft mattress 
which had been placed in the carriage for her com- 


Still Improving Opportunities. 139 


fort. He and Ella accompanied her in the drive, 
which was accomplished without diffculty, little 
Minnie showing much interest in all around. Mrs. 
Glover was awaiting them, and soon the sick child 
was laid upon the snowy bed in the cheerful apart- 
ment which had been provided for her under the 
immediate promptings of the spirit of love, which 
felt that “ whatsoever ye would that men should 
do to you, do ye even so to them.’’ 

Mr. Singleton was what is often called a self- 
made man. Having been left an orphan at a very 
early age in one of the large Northern cities, and 
without near relatives, he had been thrown on his 
own resources and compelled to become a bread- 
winner;” when more fortunate children are tenderly 
cherished, without a thoiught of how their needs are 
supplied. He had been exceptionally fortunate 
from boyhood, in all his small ventures showing a 
speculative turn, and was now a man of great 
wealth. The consequence was, he possessed an 
overweening confidence in his own judgment and 
capacity, and placed a false value on money, be- 
lieving that it could purchase almost every good of 
life. Never having had a social tie until he mar- 
ried, and his wife dying when his little Minnie was 
but a year old, he loved her with an intensity that 
dominated every motive and aspiration of his life. 
He carried her with him wherever he went; in 
fact, made her his almost constant companion. It 


140 


The Do Society.’’ 


was a new experience for him to be domesticated 
in a family like Dr. Glover’s, and to be the recipi- 
ent of such unostentatious and self-sacrificing kind- 
ness. He had heard of “Southern hospitality,” but 
never dreamed of such a manifestation as this, and 
yet he felt that in this household was something 
more than even that — a spirit of Christian love, 
which he but dimly understood. 

He saw his sick child day after day the object of 
unwearied attention on the part of Mrs. and Miss 
Glover, the latter remaining w'ith her at night also. 
Being in an adjoining room, he could often hear the 
murmur of her low voice in the silence of the night, 
always patient and persuasive, often beguiling the 
weary hours of darkness with song or tale or pleas- 
ant chat, while in the day she was so bright 
and companionable to her little charge that the 
child was never satisfied unless she W’as by her 
side. 

One day Mr. Singleton w as in the sick-room, his 
little daughter w'as improving, and the great weight 
of anxiety no longer rested upon his spirits. “ Miss 
Ella,” he said, “ I do not think I can ever find 
words to express my gratitude to you for your de- 
votion to my child. I wish it w’as in my power to 
prove it to you in some way. If the fable of the 
Gvishing-cap ’ I overheard you telling Minnie this 
morning were but true, and I possessed the fairy 
power, I should most certainly beg you to place it 


Still Improving Opportunities. 141 


on your head, and then I should be rejoiced to ac- 
. complish the fulfillment of your desires.” 

Ella felt that the opportunity for which she had 
longed had come, and yet she could hardly force 
herself to ask for or accept the performance of her 
greatest wish as a favor to herself ; but the thought 
of young Watson and the children at the factory 
nerved her for the effort. With a throbbing heart 
and heightened^ color, she timidly said : “ Mr. Sin- 
gleton, I did not nurse Minnie from any other mo- 
tive but love, and I have an ample reward in her 
affection and your appreciation; but I have a very 
great and earnest wish, which you really can ac- 
complish, and at the same time do a good and be- 
nevolent deed, and gratify the wishes of many 
others. It is to erect a church-building at the 
mills, where regular preaching and Sunday-school 
service can be held.” 

Mr. Singleton’s face flushed, and a look of much 
embarrassment passed over it as he said : “ Cer- 

tainly, my dear young lady, certainly. I ought to 
have done it before. Watson and some other fel- 
lows spoke to me about it; but I was pressed with 
work, and did not attend to it. I am truly glad 
it is in my power to gratify you so easily.” 

The dreaded ordeal w^as over. Ella smiled at 
her usekss trepidation. She had thought over 
arguments with which to persuade Mr. Singleton 
to do his duty in the matter, apprehensive the 


142 


‘*The Do Society.” 


while of appearing to dictate to him, and trans- 
gressing the bounds of maiden modesty, and lo! 
her first suggestion was eagerly agreed to, and the 
mountain had been leveled to a plain. 

Mr. Singleton, with his usual promptitude and 
dispatch, lost no time in carrying his promise into 
efiect. The next day he decided upon the site and 
plan of the building, and when little Minnie was 
able to take her first drive Ella accompanied her 
one sunny morning to see the new church. 

There it was, on a little eminence overlooking 
the foaming river, the fairest object in the lovely 
landscape; for its tapering spire, pointing heaven- 
ward, seemed to declare that the God of nature, 
so eloquently proclaimed in the picturesque beauty 
of the spot, would there be worshiped in spirit and 
in truth. 


CHAPTER XV. 

BUSY SOWERS AND REAPERS. 

‘‘ J MET a friend of yours this morning, little sis- 

1 ter,’" said Mrs. Dabney one day about the mid- 
dle of December. She had just come in out of the 
cold, crisp air, a bright color in her cheeks and a 
happy light in her eyes. 

** Indeed ? ” And Annie^s eyes opened inquiringly. 

“ Yes, a friend of yours. I have come very near 
meeting her several times before in my visits to old 
Mrs. Anson, but she had just left upon every occa- 
sion.” 

friend of mine, sister?” 

“ Yes, a warm friend; although I do not suppose 
you ever heard her name, which is Mrs. Blount.” 

“Mrs. Blount! Indeed I never have. Who is 
she? and how does she know of me?” 

“She says, darling, that you have been a help 
and a blessing to her; that she has often been on 
the point of calling on jrou to tell you so, but felt a 
delicacy in intruding. At one time she wrote a let- 
ter to you, but afterward tore it up ; so much pre- 
ferring, she said, to talk with you face to face, and 
hoping some day she would have the opportunity 
of doing so. Of course I invited her cordially to 

( 143 ) 


144 


The Do Society.” 


come, and she has promised to do so to-morrow 
morning.” 

“But, sister, how did I help her? Please tell 
me all about it.” 

“ It was by means of the letter you wrote to Dr. 
Hudson, asking him if you would ever be cured. 
At that time she was an invalid. Distress of mind 
had acted upon her body, for she mourned the loss 
of an infant, and would not be comforted. Your 
letter, which Dr. Hudson gave her to read, opened 
her eyes to her rebellious murmuring, and led her 
to seek forgiveness for it. So, sweet little sister,” 
continued Mrs. Dabney, stooping over to kiss her, 
“all unknown to yourself you have done a good 
deed, and brought another, who only heard the 
echo of your whisper, ‘ Thy will be done,’ to say it 
also.” 

“ J thanh God ! ” was the simple reply, as under 
the closed eyelids escaped a few soft-falling tears. 

The next morning, according to appointment, 
Mrs. Blount called. The meeting between Annie 
and herself was quiet, but full of feeling. As the 
lady looked down upon the pale young face, which 
smiled so sweetly up into hers, drawn by an irre- 
sistible impulse she stooped and kissed it; then, 
still holding Annie’s hand, she took a seat beside 
her. 

“You are by no means a stranger to me, my 
dear,” she began; “and I want you to feel at once 


Busy Sowers and Reapers. 


145 


that we are friends, for I have known and loved 
you for months Dr. Hudson came to see me one 
day when I was plunged in the deepest grief and 
would not listen patiently to a word of comfort. 
He compelled me to hear his remonstrances, and 
then prayed with me in such a solemnly impressive 
manner that I was in some degree prepared for 
what followed. He told me of you, and left me 
your simple note of sweet resignation to read and 
pray over. God blessed it to my immediate good. 
I saw the enormity of my rebellion. Before my 
baby died I had considered myself a Christian ; but 
when the time of trial came I could not stand the 
test, and, in my agony, I dared to array myself 
against my Maker and demand, ‘Why hast thou 
done this?* 

“After reading your note to Dr. Hudson, with my 
heart tendered by its sweet spirit of submission to 
God’s will, the question so touchingly alluded to 
forced itself upon my conscience also. Was it pos- 
sible that God had something for me to do for his 
sake, that he had thus called upon me so to suffer? 
Just then, out of the mysterious stores of memory, 
w’hen and where obtained I could not remember, 
flashed forth these lines : 

“ With patience, then, the course of duty run; 

God never does, or suffers to be done, 

That but what we would do if we could see 
The end of all things here, as well as he;’^ 


146 


The Do Society.” 


flashed forth as vividly to my mental vision as did 
the ancient handwriting upon the wall to the 
guilty king and his terrified guests, and in its light 
1 saw my sentence: * Tekel! Thou art weighed in 
the balances, and art found wanting/ But there the 
resemblance ceased. It was not to me the sentence 
of doom, but a loving Father’s w’ords of warning, 
and by the aid of the Holy Spirit I was enabled to 
heed them. The sweet words sunk deeper and 
deeper into my heart. O! could it be that I would 
yield up my baby with resignation, 

If I could see 

The end of all things here as well as he? 

Then, gently as a zephyr, breathed o’er ‘ the sweet 
fields of Eden,’ whence my little one had gone, 
came the words of Him in whose arms she was now 
safely resting: * What I do thou knowest not now, 
but thou shall know hereafter,^ It was enough ; the 
victory of faith was complete. I felt happier than 
I had ever done before, and I knew perfectly the 
reason why — because my will was thoroughly in 
subjection to my Saviour’s.” 

Plere Mrs. Blount paused for a moment, then 
said : “ My dear, I fear I weary you. Am I not 
talking too much for your good?” 

“ O no ! no ! ” exclaimed Annie. “ Please go on.’* 
“ I have not very much more to tell,” resumed 
Mrs. Blount. “As soon as the exaltation of my 
first thrills of happiness had somew'hat abated, my 


Busy Sowers and Keapers. 


147 


thoughts turned to your question, which had set iq 
motion my train of feeling: What could I do now to 
show the change which had come over me? To il- 
lustrate what a simple, child-like spirit possessed me, 
I felt that it would be sweet to obey the very first 
promptings I should receive. Then came thoughts 
of my husband. With keen pangs of self-reproach 
I recalled the w^eary days and nights he had en- 
dured, when, forgetful that he too was mourning for 
our little one, I hugged my grief, sunk under its 
weight, and made no effort to help him bear his 
load. What must he have thought all this while of 
my former professions of religion? Ah I ihdeed 
there was much for me to do. I had been a griev- 
ous stumbling-block in his path; but I would be so 
no longer. I would show him what true religion 
was, and how it could sustain in time of trouble. I 
began to act immediately. I rung my bell, and 
when my servant came I directed her to throw open 
the window blinds and bring me in some vases and 
a profusion of cut flowers. She opened her eyes in 
surprise, but obeyed in silence, however. When 
she returned, and was assisting me in arranging 
them, she said: ‘Miss Julia, I’m so glad you are 
feeling better; it seems like old times to see you hx* 
ing flowers.’ She was a faithful, affectionate girl; 
her parents had belonged to mine, and ^he had lived 
with me for many years. Her allusions to old 
times’ set my lip to quivering, but I answered: 


148 


“The Do Society.” 

‘.Yes, Hettie, I am better. God has shown me 
that I have been wrong in giving way to such ex- 
cessive grief. He has helped me to say, “ Thy will 
be done;” and I wdsh to show him my thankfulness 
for this and all my other blessings. Now, help me 
to make the room more cheerful before Mars Ar- 
thur comes home.’ I had a bright cover thrown 
over the table, my dresser and mantel were made 
festive with pretty mats and bric-a-brac, for every 
thing of the kind my gloomy feelings had hereto- 
fore banished from my presence. Flowers W’ere 
placed lavishly about. Then I arranged my hair 
in the style my husband liked best to see it, fastened 
at my throat a sprig of scarlet geranium, and 
around my shoulders threw a gay-colored scarf, had 
the brightest covered easy-chair in the house rolled 
up to my bed-side, and actually made the effort to 
rise and sit in it, for I had not left my bed before 
for many weeks. I cannot tell you, my friends,” 
and Mrs. Blount smiled with both Annie and Mrs. 
Dabney, who had been a most sympathetic listener 
throughout, “ how pleasant I found each of these 
little acts. I felt conscious of God’s approval, and, 
as I said just now, the sweetest child-like spirit of 
obedience possessed me. When my husband came 
in his look of wonder and delight pierced my heart. 
I felt so condemned for my past selfishness and lack 
of duty to him that I could hardly restrain a flow 
of tears, protestations of humility, and promises of 


Busy Sowers and Keapers. 


149 


amendment; but I knew that was not the time. I 
greeted him with smiles and cheerful words. He 
gazed into my face with amazement, with rapid 
glance swept the room and noted its sunny accesso- 
ries, then fastened his eyes once more on me, before 
he said ; ‘ My darling, what is the meaning of this?* 

“ ‘ It means, my husband,’ and the tears would 
come, though I felt that my smile W'as brighter ; ‘ it 
means that I am heartily ashamed and repentant 
of my past selfish indulgence of grief ; it means that 
I shall try to be a better wife, a better woman, a 
better Christian the rest of my life.’ I cannot tell 
you more of our conversation then or upon many 
other occasions. My mind being at rest, my body 
soon sympathized, and my health was rapidly rees- 
tablished ; then, as I looked around, I saw number- 
less opportunities for usefulness. God has blessed 
me in many ways.” And turning to Annie and 
Mrs. Dabney with a most winning air and confiding 
tones, as if sure of sympathy, she added. “ We are 
sisters, children of one Father, and I ask you to re- 
joice with me in my happiness, for next Sunday my 
husband, in uniting with the Church, will declare 
whom he will henceforth serve.” 

This visit was but the beginning of pleasant in- 
tercourse between Mrs. Blount and the Cooper fam- 
ily. A tender affection had already sprung up be- 
tween Annie and herself, while a friendship soon 
followed with Mrs. Dabney. These two found 


150 


“The Do Society.” 

themselves drawn to each other by many points of 
similarity in their experiences. Each had drank 
the bitter cup of bereavement, each had found it 
most hard to be comforted or resigned, and each 
felt that Jesus had spoken peace to her aching 
heart. They met so frequently at the bed-sides of 
the poor and suffering, so often within the cemetery, 
that by degrees they became intimate, and enjoyed 
a companionship which was at once mutually stim- 
ulating and helpful. 

Christmas had come and gone. Annie’s young 
friends had gathered around her on Christmas-eve 
to show her the results of their handiw’ork, by 
which the tree was to be adorned and the recipients 
of its bounty made happy. The finishing touches 
had been placed on many articles in her presence, 
and the wish was frequently expressed that she 
could share their pleasure. 

“ Do, Mrs. Cooper,” had Nettie White pleaded, 
“ do let her go, only this once.” 

“ She has ^vorked as hard as any of us for the 
Christmas-tree,” said Claude Stanley, “ and it does 
seem as if she ought to enjoy seeing how happy the 
poor little children will be.” 

“ Mrs. Cooper, is it quite impossible to arrange 
to take her? ” 

“ Yes, my dear, T could not think of it, even if 
we dared to jar her sensitive frame by having her 
couch placed on a spring- wagon.” 


Busy Sowers and Reapers. 


151 


“ O Mrs. Cooper ! ” almost screamed Emmie Her- 
bert, she could be taken palanquin fashion, like 
the ladies in India, couldn’t she?” Then, realizing 
how roughly she had interrupted, she stammered 
forth with deep blushes : “ Please excuse me ; I did 
not mean to be so rude.” 

Mrs. Cooper graciously smiled her forgiveness, as 
she resumed : “ No, not even a palanquin, dear ; for 
no mode of conveyance could change the weather. 
She could not risk the cold night air ; she is my lit- 
tle hot-house plant,” was the playful conclusion, as 
she looked fondly at her patient child. 

Annie knew that these wishes and suggestions of 
her friends, kindly meant though they w^ere, were 
utterly vain and idle. She felt that her mother 
was quite right ; yet, when they bade her good-by, 
and through her wnndow she saw them in the street 
so full of vivacity and merriment, the crisp, cold 
air and bounding blood in their veins, vivified by 
youth, health, and happiness, combining to prompt 
them — like it does the young of every species — to 
innocent frolicsomeness and harmless pranks, she 
sighed, and the unspoken longing of her heart was : 
“ O for an hour of freedom in the open air ; one little 
hour of youthful sport and activity, of feeling my 
blood coursing through ray veins, my muscles in act- 
ive exercise, the pulses of my heart quickened by 
girlish play ! ” 

But even as the yearning seized her she stifled 


152 


The Do Society. 


the rising sighs, and remembered these lines, which 
she had learned only a few days before : 

He knows! 

Yes, Jesus knows just what you cannot tell; 

He understands so well I 

The silence of the heart is heard. 

He does not need a single word; 

He thinks of you ; 

He watcheth and he careth too; 
lie pitieth, he loveth! All this flows 
In one sweet word, “ He knows.” 

It was enough. Nestling back in those ** everlast- 
ing arms,” which she knew were “underneath” 
and around her, she felt that she could wait till, in 
a happier world, she would speed on errands of 
obedience and love with exhaustless strength, and 
all her ransomed powers, ever young and fresh 
and active, w’ould combine to sing the praises and 
do the will of that God who now pitied and loved 
and watched and cared for her. 

Yes; Christmas had come and gone. It brought 
great happiness to Annie. Her friends all remem- 
bered her so tenderly; kind notes or loving words 
greeted her all through the day. The coverlet of 
her couch was almost hidden with gifts, and with 
girlish interest and pleasure she examined and re- 
examined each one, allowing none to get beyond 
her reach. Nothing did she value more than a 
pretty little work-basket neatly woven, to which 
was attached a card containing these few w'ords: 


Busy Sowers and Reapers. 


153 


“ Miss Annie Cooper, with the love and gratitude of 
her little friend, Tommy Miller.’’ A little toward 
one corner was this characteristic line: “Miss An- 
nie, I made this basket and wrote this by myself.” 

The festivities of Christmas week did not prevent 
the young band of earnest workers from assembling 
on their usual afternoon. It was not long before 
they told Annie of a new subject that was engross- 
ing their thoughts; a new object that would re- 
quire contributions of time, labor, and money. 
Claude Stanley introduced the interesting topic by 
saying: “Annie, we have resolved on doing some- 
thing new, in which I am sure you will join — not 
that we intend to leave our old work undone,” she 
hastily added. 

“No, indeed,” interposed Olive Hastings; “for 
our pastor says he has always observed that those 
most interested in foreign missions do better work 
at home. They react on each other.” 

“After that remark you can easily guess, Annie, 
w^hat style of ‘ new work ’ we wish to undertake,” 
quietly observed Nettie White. 

“ Yes ; it would not require the sphinx to solve the 
riddle,” said Annie, laughing. “ But go into par- 
ticulars, girls, for I am as much interested as you 
could wish.” 

“ Well,” resumed Claude, “ we have concluded 
to concentrate our missionary dues for the education 
of a little Chinese girl.” 


154 


“The Do Society.’^ 


“ We will name her Maud Emory, after our pas- 
tor’s baby, who died last year,” spoke out Emmie 
Herbert with her usual impulsiveness. 

“ You know, Annie,” continued Claude, “that it 
is quite customary now to support and educate some 
little girl, and she always drops the ‘Ah Sin’ or 
‘Wong Lee’ and receives an English name, gen- 
erally bestowed upon her by the society who sends 
on the money for her education.” 

“ The First Church last year named their little 
girl after their pastor’s wife,” said Emmie. 

“ How much does it require?” asked Annie. 

“Only forty dollars a year,” answered Claude; 
“and I am sure eight of us can make five dollars 
apiece in the course of a year.” 

“Yes, indeed!” said Olive; “if not in one way 
we can in another; if not by our fingers we can by 
self-denial, girls.” And she looked around upon her 
companions with an air of determination. 

“ But our fingers can do other things besides fan- 
cy work and painting to make money,” suggested 
Nellie. “ I intend to take extra pains with my 
pit plants, and sell many little boutonnaires and 
bouquets. Every little will help.” 

“ I can do that too,” chimed in Claude ; “ and O! 
I have just thought: I can obtain orders through 
the ‘ Woman’s Exchange’ for canning fruit. That 
is one thing I can do nicely, for I have attended to 
it for mamma for two years.” 


Busy Sowers and Reapers. 


155 


And so the young planners ran on, till each one 
mentioned a specialty that she hoped would enable 
her easily to raise the amount she had pledged. 

That night, after retiring, Annie said to Mm. 
Dabney: “Sister, what do you think my bracelets 
would sell for? ” 

“ I really can’t say, dear. Why do you ask? ” 

Then Annie repeated the substance of the girls’ 
conversation that afternoon, and added : “ I already 
have my five dollars for our little Chinese Maud 
Emory that I made from my crocheting and knit- 
ting expressly for our missionary society; but I 
have been thinking how much I should like to sup- 
port another little girl and give her my name. I 
could do it so easily, I think, by selling my jewelry. 
What do I want with it now ? How I should love 
to work for her and pray for her, and learn how 
her education is progressing, and know that while 
I can do so little for Jesus there is another Annie 
Cooper far off among the heathen who may be truly 
‘ a chosen vessel ’ to bear God’s name among those 
who know it not. Sister,” she continued with the 
sweetest humility, “ do you think it is wrong in me 
to wish to use my name? Is it pride or self-con- 
ceit?” 

Mrs. Dabney drew her little sister closer in her 
arms and steadied her voice before she answered: 
“No, my darling; I am sure it is not. I believe 
your motives are as pure as love to God and man 


156 


The Do Society.” 


can make them, and I hope your little namesake 
will develop into all that you wish. If you really 
desire to raise the money at once yourself by sell- 
ing your jewelry, I will see to it for you with pleas- 
ure. You know it is my delight to execute your 
wishes. Go to sleep now ; we will talk more about 
it in the morning.” 

The next day Mr. Cooper was sitting near his 
little daughter, watching the lively interest she 
took in assorting some gay-colored zephyrs. 

‘‘Annie,” he inquired, “ what becomes of all the 
pretty things you make? Your busy fingers are 
constantly employed, but it must be a sort of Pe- 
nelope’s web, for if you complete any thing I never 
see it afterward.” 

“ Because I sell them, papa,” was the unexpected 
reply. 

“ Indeed! What do you want with the money? 
My child, you ought to know I will supply you 
with any amount you wish.” 

“ Of course, papa, I know you would ; but this is 
different. You see I want to make the money my- 
self for our missionary society; several of the girli 
do.”. 

“Ah w^ell! if it is just your fancy, or a sort of 
case of conscience, that is a different thing. How 
much do you make, little missionary? ” 

“Just what we could until now ; that is, we never 
pledged ourselves for any amount until this week, 


Busy Sowers and Reapers. 


157 


but now we have a special object in view.” And 
she told him of the Chinese girls, and the intentions 
of the “ Band ” to which she belonged, as well as 
her individual designs and desires. 

“ What does it cost to support and educate a girl 
for a year?” asked her father, thoughtfully. 

“ Forty dollars, papa.” And lifting from the ta- 
ble her mother’s Woman’s Missionary Advocate^ fresh 
from the mail, she handed it to him, pointing out 
the paragraph which contained the information. 
He glanced over it, and then said: “Ah yes! let 
me see. Forty dollars supports a girl, sixty dollars 
a Bible-woman, one hundred dollars constitutes an 
honorary life-member. I think I should like to be 
an honorary life-member of your society.” And, 
turning for a moment to a writing-desk near by, he, 
handed her a check, saying : “ Tell Alfred to get 
this cashed for you in a crisp new bill, so, while 
your girl is studying and growing, your Bible- 
woman can be at work. Now you can knit your 
Penelope’s web more leisurely.” 

Stooping to kiss her “ good-by,” he then left the 
room before her grateful look of pleasure had faded 
away. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

PREPARING TO BUILD A CHURCH. 

T he sun was not yet up, when from Mrs. Les- 
ter’s kitchen came the sound of singing. The 
voice was evidently feminine and pitched on a very 
high key, the words distinctly audible for a con- 
siderable distance: 

“ Ole Satan fought he cotch my soul, 

But he miss my soul an’ he cotch my sins; 

An’ my soul’s boun’ for glo-rye. 

Glo-rye Lord, glo-rye! 

My soul’s boun’ for glo-rye, 

An’ dat wot Satan’s a-grumblin’ about.” 

“ Good - morning, Aunt Dilsy.” It was Rosy’s 
sweet voice, as, standing in the door-way enveloped 
in a large apron, she began to roll up her sleeves 
and bare her plump arms. “ Good - morning ; I 
have come to swap work with you.” 

“Eh! Wot you’re talkin’ ’bout,' chile? Swap 
work wid me? ” 

“ Yes. To-day we are to chop out cotton in our 
* church patch,’ and mamma said you could go in 
my place and I could take yours in the kitchen.” 

“Now I jest wisht you’d listen to dat!” And 
Dilsy apostrophized an imaginary audience. “ I 
( 158 ) 


Preparing to Build a Church. 159 


neber heerd de beat ! An’ Satterday, tool Got to 
make dera green apple pies fur dinner to-morrow, 
an’ de lite-bread dun riz ready to make out right 
now. Wot Miss Cormelia t’inkin’ ’bout, I wonder ? ” 

“ Why, Aunt Dilsy, she knows that you have 
taught me how to make light-bread and green ap- 
ple pies too; and though of course I can’t do as 
well in the kitchen as you, you can do a great 
deal better than I in the cotton-patch. That is 
the reason I begged for you, because there is no one 
on the farm that can beat you chopping out cottoiu” 

As Rosy spoke, she turned the damper of the 
stove, gave several energetic thrusts with the poker 
at the fire, and proceeded to empty the risen dough 
on the biscuit-board ; then she began to knead it so 
vigorously that Dilsy, seeing that she was “ mistress 
of the situation,” and considerably mollified by the 
compliment to her skill as a cotton-chopper, said: 
“ Well, if I mus’, I mus’. I know I kin chop cot- 
ton w’en I’m a min’ to. That’s a mighty fine 
patch you chillen got, too.” 

“ Harry says they are going to race to-day. Aunt 
Dilsy; he says he is bound to beat you, or any 
how put you up to the best 'you can do.” 

‘^Who? Me? Dat boy’s ^lum crazy. I tell 
you w’en I git hold of a hoe-handle I am one o’ de 
ole blue hen’s chickens, shore, I am.” Saying which 
she vanished in high spirits, determined to be the 
victor in the contest of the day. 


160 


“The Do Society.” 


Rosy rapidly turned from one test of her skill 
as a cook to another, almost unconsciously taking 
up Dilsy’s refrain where she had dropped it, till 
she had “ rendered ” most of the “ gems ” in the 
repertoire’^ of that sable songstress, and caused 
her father laughingly to remark, as she placed the 
snowy hominy, flaky biscuit, and light crisp waffles 
upon the breakfast-table : “ My daughter, you seem 
determined to rival Dilsy’s accomplishments in mu- 
sic as well as in cooking.” 

But we must go back a little, and explain some 
circumstances which led to the existence of this 
church patch ” of cotton, as Rosy called it. The 
Sunday-school that had found a shelter from the 
winds and rains of winter in the renovated kitchen 
of Mrs. Lester took on a fresh and vigorous growth 
coeval with its organization. As Rosy had pre- 
dicted, the seniors of the neighborhood began to 
attend as soon as it w’as known that they w^ere wel- 
come and expected. Mr. Lester presided with much 
judgment and tact, not requiring the lesson to be 
studied by those who, from lack of education or 
timidity, would have found it oppressive, but read- 
ing it to them, explaining and enlarging upon it 
in a way to elicit their attention and interest. Yet, 
although it was understood that in his class the 
scholars need make no preparation, still Mrs. Les- 
ter and Miss Thompson had their benches always 
full of young people, who studied the lesson care- 


Preparing to Build a Church. 1G1 


fully, -while Posy’s infant class was the delight of 
her heart. 

The girls and boys continued to take the respon- 
sibility of the care of the room. Large loads of 
wood were hauled, cut up, and stacked under con- 
venient shelter by the large boys, and a blazing fire 
every Sunday greeted the earliest arrivals. 

Early in January there were a few new-comers 
into the near neighborhood — families with children. 
About that time — the roads to the nearest church 
being very bad, distant as it was — other households 
concluded to come over and attend Sunday-school, 
even if there was no preaching; and so the num- 
bei’s swelled. Several of the heads of these fami- 
lies were religious men, intelligent and earnest. 
Mr. Lester cordially greeted them, invited them to 
assist, and thought of Paul when, in his night 
vision at Corinth, the Lord declared to him, “I 
have much people in this city,” and of Elijah’s 
useless bemoaning over his imaginary isolated faith- 
fulness, for he had thought that there was no one 
to cooperate with him in his religious eflTorts ; and 
behold! all that was needed was a nucleus, around 
which should gather and grow Christian faith and 
hope and work. This unpretentious little Sunday- 
school, in its humble abode, was the tiny spark 
which, by prayer and the help of God’s Holy 
Spirit, could kindle a flame of love in every heart. 
Very soon a prayer-meeting was held for an hour 
11 


162 


“The Do Society.' 


before the opening of the schgol. This attracted 
greater numbers. More teachers and scholars were 
enrolled. A wide-spread religious interest was 
manifested, and a revival began — deep, quiet, and 
protracted; began, so it seemed, because of the 
knowledge of that “ law of the Lord,” which “ is 
perfect, converting the soul ; ” and continued because 
those who had experienced a “clean heart,” and 
were “upheld with the free Spirit of God,” then 
taught transgressors his ways, and sinners were 
converted unto him. 

“O papa!” said Rosy, “do you remember your 
telling me, when we first organized, how much 
more ready Jesus is to give than w^e are to receive ? 
Let us not leave off* asking, like Abraham ; or stay 
our hand from striking, like Joash ; or, as did the 
widow^s son, fail to present a vessel for the flowing 
oil; but continue to ask ‘large petitions of the 
King,' of whom ‘ Tve' can never ask too much.’ ” 

“ Yes, truly, dear daughter, there are many for 
whom I specially pray, and whom I cannot bear 
to think of as being ungarnered in this harvest.” 

“ Harry ! Papa,' I have said every thing to him 
I can think of I ” And Rosy’s affectionate heart 
overflowed as she alluded to this dear brother. 

“ It is strange,” replied Mr. Lester. “ I thought 
he would have yielded long ago. He is deeply in- 
terested, I am sure.” 

Mrs. Lester had entered the room in time to 


Preparing to Build a Church. 163 


hear her husband’s remark ; and now the mother’s 
instinct sjwke : “ Leave him in God’s hands, hus- 
band. I believe Harry is just now fighting one 
of the battles of life. The fiercer the confiict, the 
greater the victory. Do not judge him by Lucy’s 
sweet and instant submission. She is all gentleness 
and love, but Harry is made of sterner stuff How 
often have you spoken of his conscientiousness ! He 
must always scrutinize his own motives. Depend 
upon it, there is the trouble. When he conquers — 
and we must all pray for him without ceasing — 
his faith will have a firmer foundation. Let us not 
urge him to give us ftis confidence till he is ready.’' 

Rosy found it very hard to be guided by her 
mother’s advice, as for some days longer Harry was 
abstracted and silent, strangely unlike himself. 
At last, one evening he invited her to take a walk 
with him. As she looked into his face her heart 
gave one great bound, for she instantly knew what 
the subject of their conversation would be, and 
that the “ battle,” as her mother had called it, was 
over, and God and the right were victorious. 

Little was said, and only on indifferent subjects, 
until they reached a spot which had been their favor- 
ite from childhood — a clear, bubbling spring at the 
foot of a giant magnolia. There, upon the ground 
thickly strewn with the dark-green and russet leaves, 
Harry threw himself, and motioned Rosy to sit 
beside him. He took out of his pocket a printed 


164 


‘‘The Do Society.' 


slip of paper, but still held it in his hand as he 
said : “ Rosy, I want you to read this, for it de- 
scribes my feelings, my resolutions, far better than 
any words I can use. I suspect you have thought 
me very unresponsive to your affectionate solici- 
tude, but I assure you the state of mind I have 
been in for the past two weeks has been a prodig- 
ious surprise to myself. At the beginning of our 
meeting I thought I should be blessed at once. I 
wanted to be; but when I attempted to give myself 
unreservedly to God, I found I could not do it. I 
set myself to work to find out what was the matter, 
and at last I saw. You know. Rosy, I want to be 
a lawyer. I know that I am very ambitious. Vis- 
ions of success in public life, of the veiy highest 
political preferment, sometimes haunt my brain. 
I felt that I could not abandon all these hopes and 
aspirations; at the same time I thought it was nec- 
essary to do this if I gave myself, without reserve, 
to God. And then the fight began. I tell you, 
sister, I know now what temptation means, for Sa- 
tan showed me much of the ‘ kingdoms of this world 
and the glory of them,’ and offered me glittering 
prizes there if I would give up the combat; but I 
would not. I did not say, ^ Get thee behind me, 
Satan,’ but I still left the question open. Last 
night, after I went to my room, my eye fell on this 
hymn in a newspaper. Think of that, Rosy. Don’t 
you know the hand of God was in it? Yes, in a 


Preparing to Build a Church. 165 


newspaper ; and as I read the last two verses light 
broke upon me. I saw that the whole was a temp- 
tation from Satan, even before I suspected it. I 
saw that I was not required to yield my aspirations 
and ambitions, but to consecrate them. I could 
gratefully accept ten talents, if they were given 
me, provided I was a ‘ good and faithful servant,^ 
and made them yield ‘ ten other talents,’ while, if I 
had but one and did not improve it, I should re- 
ceive my Lord’s condemnation. 0! it was very 
clear to me then, and in its light I could repeat the 
entire hymn with my w’hole heart; and I know God 
heard and accepted mej as surely as I feel my 
pulse throbbing at this moment. Now read it, 
Eosy; read it aloud.” He drew his cap far over 
his eyes, and folded his arms beneath his head, as 
Rosy read : 

‘“Just as I am,’ tliirie own to be. 

Friend of the young, who lovest me; 

To consecrate myself to thee, 

O Jesus Christ, I come! 

“ In the glad morning of my day, 

My life to give, my vows to pay; 

With no reserve, and no delay, 

With all my heart I come! 

“ I would live ever in the light, 

I would work ever for the right, 

I would serve thee with all my might; 
Therefore to thee I come ! 


1G6 


“The Do Society.” 


“‘Just as I am/ young, strong, and free, 

To be the best that I can be ; 

For truth, and righteousness, and thee, 

Lord of iny life, I come! 

“AVith many dreams of fame and gold, 

Success and joy to make me bold; 

But dearer still my faith to hold. 

For my whole life I come! 

“And for thy sake to win renown. 

And then to take my victor’s crown, 

And at thy feet to cast it down, 

O Master, Lord, 1 come ! ” 

That night, at the prayer-meeting, Harry rose 
and declared with broken voice that he was a 
“soldier of the cross,” but did not “fear to own 
his cause,” and hoped he would never “ blush to 
speak the name” of .his great Captain; for he had 
enlisted for life, and by God’s help would conquer, 
though he died. While the hearts of all were 
touched by his "simple, manly sincerity, his parents 
and sister knew he had come from a battle-field 
triumphant, where many older and wiser than he 
had lost their souls eternally. In their hajipy 
hearts they believed that it was an earnest of that 
“illustrious day,'" when in “robes of victory” he 
would shine with God’s armies beyond the bright- 
ness of tb e sun forever and ever. 

In the course of this meeting Rosy’s heart was 
made glad by the conversion of the girls who con- 
stituted the very first nucleus of this Sunday- 


Preparing to Build a Church. 1G7 


school. When Delia Moore, the last to rejoice, 
threw her arms around her, and told her how 
happy she was. Rosy’s joy was complete. 

And now the question arose of the propriety of 
organizing into a church, and erecting a building 
as soon as possible. The latter would be a work 
of time, requiring labor and money ; the former, all 
agreed, it were best to accomplish quickly. The 
Conference year had but recently begun, and they 
felt that this was an auspicious season to enroll their 
names and start the regular machinery of a church. 

“ We must send for the presiding elder, and get 
him to organize us,” said Mr. Phillips, one of the 
most earnest of their number, as a group lingered 
around the fire after the daily prayer-meeting. 

“ Do you know who he is, Rosy?” inquired Mr. 
Lester. 

No, papa.” 

‘‘No other than your old friend. Dr. Morton.” 

“ Is he? I am so glad! Do ask him to come.” 

And he did come, and remained a week, work- 
ing faithfully for his Master, and gathering up more 
sheaves for the harvest. 

Then did the official members of the infant 
church diligently consider “ ways and means ” to 
build their house of worship. None were rich, and 
some were really poor; but all desired to do their 
best. Dr. Morton had interested the smallest child 
in the enterprise. He had said : “ Let no one be de- 


1G8 


The Do Society.' 


terred from helping because he can do but little. 
I -want the children to feel, every one of them, that 
they have some right and title to it, because they 
helped to build it. If you can give but a nickel, 
you can claim some nails at least; and if there is 
one here who honestly cannot even do that, let him 
bring for the workman a draught from the bub- 
bling spring, and obtain the reward j)romised to the 
giver of a cup of cold water. Eemember, 

The least you do for Jesus 
Will be precious in his sight.” 

Mr. Lester had donated the land for the pur- 
pose — a beautiful grove, near Rosy and Harry’s 
favorite spring. It was decided, however, that the 
work of building could not be commenced then. 
Farming operations would soon be pressing, the 
teams could not be spared to haul lumber, and two 
or three farmers wlio were fair amateur carpen- 
ters could not leave their labors in the field. In 
the summer, when the crops were “ laid by,’’ and a 
season of rest and recreation was in order, many 
hands and willing hearts would illustrate that “ in 
union there is strength ” — and dispatch ! 

Many were the plans suggested and abandoned 
by Rosy, Harry, and Lucy for making the money 
they craved. Schemes promising at the first glance 
became impracticable upon closer inspection, so 
that it v;as with a feeling of intense relief that they 
welcomed a suggestion from their father. 


Preparing to Build a Church. 169 


“ Children,” he said, “ I have not yet rented the 
ten-acre field beyond the sassafras thicket. If you 
wish it, you are welcome to cultivate it. I will 
give you some of my choice prolific cotton-seed to 
plant. You can invite some of your young friends 
to join you, and by cooperation in this way — all 
working together, just at the right time — you can 
make a good crop, and do better than in separate, 
small patches, as you are thinking of doing, Harry.” 

“ That is a fine idea, father. I intended to ask 
you for a portion of that field; but to unite with 
others, and cultivate it all, did not occur to me.” 

“ Well, it is good land. It lay fallow last year, 
and I am willing to give you the use of it for the 
sake of the cause. Then, though Eosy and Lucy 
can neither plow nor hoe, I am much mistaken if 
they cannot devise a plan by which they can get 
some one to do their work for them, and make more 
clear money by their cotton than in any other way.” 

“ But, papa, if I can’t plow or hoe, I can pick 
when the time comes,” said Lucy, in a transport of 
delight. 

“ I am sure I can sew for the negroes that I get 
to work in our patch for me, and pay them in 
that way,” said Eosy. 

The arrangement was made, and at the appointed 
time an enthusiastic young company of workers 
rallied to the spot. The ground was prepared, the 
fertilizers applied, the seed was sown; and when 


170 


“The Do Society.” 


the unbroken line of green appeared notice was 
served by Harry, the general of the “ church patch ” 
brigade, that chopping-out day had come. Then 
it was that Rosy exchanged work with Dilsy, as 
related in the opening of this chapter. 

At the close of that day, as Rosy greeted her 
substitute upon her return from the field, and ex- 
hibited with exultation her beautifully baked light- 
bread and tempting green apple pies, and Lucy 
presented as a gift a neatly made apron, Dilsy, with 
a peculiarly self-approving twist of the head, said ; 
“ Well, chillun, I worked hard for you to-day, 
shore. I was de boss cotton-chopper in dat patch, 
sartin. I tell you, anybody got to git up mighty 
soon in de mawnin’ to git ahead me w’en I’m in 
one o’ my weavin’ ways.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

TURNING-POINT IN A LIFE. 

M r. cooper was a man of high moral charac- 
ter, possessing in a wonderful degree the power 
of attracting the love and respect of his family. Of 
an affectionate and tenderly sympathetic nature, he 
abhorred any thing like sham and pretense, and to 
him hypocrisy was an unpardonable sin. Since his 
wife had renewed the vows she had made in her 
youth, and which for so many years she had disre- 
garded, she had felt unspeakable solicitude that he 
should walk with her in the same path, fearing that 
her former inconsistency had repelled him from the 
true way of life. Annie, whose love and admira- 
tion for her father were unbounded, had timidly, 
yet with touching earnestness, told him the secret of 
her patience, serenity, and happiness ; had called his 
attention to the cause of the sweet peace he had ob- 
served shining in her sister’s face the night when 
her burden had rolled from her heart, and on the 
morning of this particular Sunday (of which we 
shall tell) had held his hand caressingly as she 
whispered: “Papa, to-day is communion Sunday, 
and Mr. Emory is coming to us before service. O 
how 1 wish you would join us in that precious priv- 

fl7n 


172 


The Do Society.” 


ilcgc; and it is your birthday, papa!” raising her 
lips to give him another kiss because of the anni- 
versary. Mr. Cooper made no remark, and soon aft- 
er left the room. 

It was a perfect day in early May, and the great- 
er portion of its hours was spent by Annie on the 
side piazza overlooking the garden. By her request 
her couch had been rolled there after Mr. Emory 
had left. ' She then insisted that all the family must 
go to church, as she would be well cared for by 
the servants; and, while basking in the sweet sun- 
shine, and enjoying the beauty of the blue sky, with 
its changing fleecy clouds, and the coloring and per- 
fume of the shrubs and flowers before her, the time 
of their absence would rapidly pass away. 

It was during these occasional hours, when she 
was comparatively alone, that Annie often sought 
occasion to speak a word in season to the servants, 
who all — coachman and butler, chambermaid and 
cook — were eager to wait upon her, and to listen re- 
spectfully to any thing she might say; for, like the 
majority of their race, they were generally well 
pleased to have the subject of religion introduced. 
Annie, who had been familiar with colored people 
all her life, could and did take advantage of the 
sympathy they felt for her physical condition to 
express a similar interest in their spiritual welfare, 
and to counsel them where they often need instruc- 
tion in regard to the requirements of that faith of 


Turning-point in a Life. 


173 


•svhich sincerity, honesty, and truth in the heart are 
the vital tests. This humble young disciple, who 
so earnestly wished to show her faith by her works, 
had read to profit the charge of the “Preacher:’’ 
“ In the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening 
withhold not thine hand; for thou knowest not 
whether shall prosper, either this or that, or wheth- 
*er they both shall be alike good.” 

In the afternoon of this Sweet, balmy Lord’s-day 
!Mrs. Dabney joined her young sister on the piazza, 
and read aloud to her from the “ Diary of Kitty 
Trevyllian,” in which they were both much inter- 
ested. Mr. Cooper drew near and threw himself 
into an adjacent hammock ; but as he lay very quiet- 
ly, with his hat drawn over his eyes, they thought 
him asleep. 

After tea Alfred Cooper declared he would take 
charge of their invalid, if his father would escort 
his mother and sister to church, The evening 
passed quickly and pleasantly to Annie. Her broth- 
er had a fine voice, and accompanied himself grace- 
fully on the piano ; so at her request he sung hymn 
after hymn for her, until, to their surprise, the door 
opened and their parents and sister entered. 

Mr. Cooper walked directly up to his daughter, 
kissed h.er twice, and then said: “My darling, you 
expressed regret this morning that I could not join 
you in partaking of the sacrament of the Lord’s 
Su])per. I know it will make you happy to teU 


174 


“The Do Society.’* 


you that when next you have the opportunity I 
will humbly and gladly make one of your number.” 

“O papa! ” It was all that Annie could say, as, 
glancing into the faces of her mother and sister, she 
saw joyful confirmation of her instant hopes. 

Mr. Cooper took his seat beside her, and with 
perfect calmness continued ■ “ I am glad to be able 
to bear witness before you all — my nearest and 
dearest — of the resolutions I have made this night, 
and which I trust I may keep the rest of my life 
by the help of God. Alfred, sit down. I am glad 
you are here; while what I say may not, cannot 
give you the happiness that it will the others, still 
it may be the means in some measure of helping 
you to similar resolutions, for God forbid that pro- 
crastination should bind you in its iron fetters as I 
was bound. Yes; I will gladly give you my expe- 
rience. That is a familiar word of my childhood, 
for I was born and reared in an old-fashioned 
Methodist family, when class-meetings were the 
rule, and not, as in these latter days, the exception. 
My father was a class-leader, and many and many 
a time has he taken me with him to the meetings 
when I was a very small child. The pure Bible 
doctrines that were taught me from my infancy 
have never been alloyed, not a breath of modern 
doubt has sullied their purity, and for this I thank 
God; but until to-day I have never seen why the 
seed sown in my young heart, and watered with the 


Turning-point in a Life. 


175 


tears and prayers of my pious parents, brought forth 
no fruit to everlasting life. 

“When I was but ten years of age I heard a ser- 
mon from a distinguished Virginia minister, gifted 
as a revivalist, which I distinctly remember. It 
was from the text : ‘ Behold, I stand at the door, and 
knock; if any man hear my voice, and open the 
door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, 
and he with me.^ He compared the human heart 
to a door constructed on the principle of many hor- 
izontal sections held in place, strengthened, braced 
by one strong perpendicular bar. He named these 
mental sections pride, self-will, envy, revenge — all 
the evil traits of the natural heart — Avhile the brac- 
ing perpendicular bar he likened to procrastination. 
He asserted that often pride was removed, self-will 
conquered, revenge foregone, all similar obstacles 
withdrawn, and it appeared as if the door would 
surely be opened, and the heavenly visitor come and 
spread the banquet he had prepared; but alas! the 
strong bar of procrastination was unmoved, and 
the door remained closed. The Holy Spirit was 
quenched, told to go his way for Uhis time,’ but 
alas! perhaps forever; for the warning is given 
forth with no uncertain sound — it is unmistakably, 
awfully solemn : ‘ My Spirit shall not always strive 
with man.’ 

“I recall,” Mr. Cooper continued, “not only the 
sermon, but the impressive delivery of it. The tall. 


176 


“The Do Society.’ 


slim figure of the speaker, the mild, benevoleut 
face, with the long, framing hair, seemed quite suit- 
able only to beam with love while uttering the ten- 
der invitations of the gospel; yet could it be stern 
and dreadful when, as upon some occasions, he 
warned the people to flee from the wrath to come. 
It is strange that I should have remembered all 
through life this solemn exhortation and never heed- 
ed it. My dear daughter, your tender little ap- 
peals have touched my heart whenever you have 
uttered them, although the beautiful illustrations of 
Christian character in your daily life have spoken 
more eloquently than any words tongue could ut- 
ter. This morning your few words of regret that I 
could not join you in your communion, united with 
the allusion to my birthday, affected me powerful- 
ly. I went out from your presence to meditate 
upon the past, hly birthday — my fiftieth birthday ! 
How well I recollected when I thought that that 
age was almost on the borders of infirmity! How 
well I remembered when, a little child, I thought I 
should certainly be a Christian when I was an old 
man ; but now, on the ‘ western slope of life,^ I 
know that age alone does not improve the heart. 
The same fatal procrastination that had influenced 
me as a child, as a youth, as a man in the vigor of 
his prime, possessed me still. 

“ The hour for morning service arrived, and I ac- 
companied your mother as usual. The text v;as. 


Turning-point in a Life. 


177 


‘ How shall we escape if we neglect so great salva- 
tion?’ By the help of the Holy Spirit I saw my 
soul laid bare, with its secret motives, its sophistries, 
its self-deceptions all exposed. I discovered how I 
had prided myself on my morality. I saw the 
weakness of the arguments by which I had lulled 
my conscience to rest as to my duty in professing 
Christ before men, because there are hypocrites 
within the pale of the Church. Sins of omission, of 
which I made light, now assumed such offensive 
proportions that I wrote them down commission ; ” 
and the most heinous, stupendous of all was the sin 
of neglect! I left the church a very unhappy 
man. I felt my personal sins and responsibility as 
I had never done before ; but my old foe, procrasti- 
nation, once more dared to attempt to assert its chill- 
ing power over me. As I lay in the hammock this 
afternoon my ear caught a sentence that Alice read, 
and it was ‘ a nail driven in a sure place.’ 

“‘The me and the now of the gospel,’ the ar- 
row which had pierced my soul, now seemed to be 
barbed and poisoned, and I went to church to- 
night in a state of mind which I am unable to de- 
scribe. The opening hymn was given out: 

Behold, a stranger at the door! 

He gently knocks, has knocked before; 

Has waited long, is waiting still. 

Ah, how true! Backward flew my thoughts to the 
time when I heard the sermon of which I have 
12 


178 


*‘The Do Society.” 


given you an outline, and when that very hymn 
was sung. I recalled my mother’s sweet words of 
prayer when she carried me into her closet, and, 
with hand upon my head, dedicated me again and 
yet again to her covenant God. Years have gone 
by since my parents have exchanged prayer for 
everlasting praise, and yet on my fiftieth birthday 
their petitions for their only son were still unan- 
swered. Mr. Emory read his dual text: ‘Choose 
you this day whom you w ill serve,’ and ‘ Behold, 
now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of 
salvation.’ 

“ There it w’as again ! Unmistakably ! Emphat- 
ically! ‘The me and the now of the gospel.’ In 
the course of that sermon one more ‘ refuge of 
lies ’ was swept away from me, and I was made to 
see and feel how I had crept beneath its shelter and 
dwelt securely there. I realized that all my life 
I had waited passively for the power of God to en- 
wrap me, to irresistibly force me to penitence. I 
saw that in spite of all my boasted declarations of 
free agency I practically ignored and denied it, for 
I had virtually been waiting for God to fill me 
with sensations, emotions, and resolutions as though 
I was the veriest puppet. I felt unspeakably hu- 
miliated as the flood of light illumined my con- 
science. O! had my Saviour not already done 
enough? Was the agony of Gethsemane and Cal- 
vary not enough? Was it not enough that, exalt- 


Turning-point in a Life. 


179 


ed now in heaven though he be, he yet * ever liveth 
to make intercession for them who come unto God 
by him?’ Was it not enough that God’s Holy 
Spirit, all through these long years, had stood at the 
door of my heart and knocked ? Was it not enough 
that he offered me a service which was * perfect 
freedom,’ a yoke that was easy and a burden that 
was light, and at last a ‘crown of life that fadeth 
not away;’ while on the other hand was shown the 
downward path of sin, with the sure wages of eter- 
nal death, and then said unto me, ‘ Choose yef* 
And, moreover, was it not enough that not at some 
future period — dim, vague, and uncertain — I could 
decide these eternal interests ; but that the command 
was, ‘ Choose you this day whom ye shall serve ; for 
now is the accepted time, and now is the day of sal- 
vation?’ And should I not use the free-will with 
which he had invested me, and make ray choice? 
Should I not obey God’s commandments, and make 
that choice to-day f Should I not ‘rise, touched 
with gratitude divine,’ and, throwing wide open 
the door of my heart, exclaim in the abasement of 
penitential self-reproach and love. 

Come quickly in, thou heavenly guest. 

Nor ever hence remove? 

Should I not accept the invitation which the minis- 
ter was then extending to all who would that day 
choose to serve the Lord, to signify it by the deci- 
sive step of enrolling their names among the hosts 


180 


The Do Society.’ 


of tlie Church militant? I decided that I should, 
that I would; and as he read, 

Just as I am, witliout one plea, 

But that thy blood was shed for me. 

And that thou bidd’st me come to thee, 

O Lamb of God, I come ! — 

that hymn of simple trust, which doubtless has ex- 
pressed the resolutions of thousands of trembling 
penitents as it did for me — I walked u]3 the aisle 
and gave him my hand. 

‘‘And now, my beloved family,*^ concluded Mr. 
Cooper, “ I have talked much longer than I expect- 
ed, and it is late, but not too late, in more than one 
sense, thank God, for me to endeavor to right many 
WTongs in my past life. The nearest duty that pre- 
sents itself to me is the erection of the family altar. 
Let us unite in our first offering upon it, an offer- 
ing of praise, thanksgiving, and love.” 

Then kneeling, with his family around him for 
the first time in his life, Mr. Cooper filled the place 
which God intends the father of every family should 
occupy as priest in his own household, declaring 
that “ as for me and my house, we will serve the 
Lord.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

DEDICATION OF EBENEZER CHURCH. 

M r. and Mrs. Lester sat on their piazza one pleas- 
ant afternoon in October, enjoying the beauties 
of the autumnal sunset. On his lap lay an agri- 
cultural magazine, while the contents of a work- 
basket had engaged her attention. The merry 
pranks of Frank and baby Claude, now able to run 
about with the other children, had frequently at- 
tracted their parents’ attention from book and bas- 
ket, till, as the brilliant coloring in the western 
sky grew more beautiful, they were allowed to re- 
main quite disregarded. 

“ Why do you sigh, Cornelia?” asked Mr. Lester. 
“ I am curious to know what train of thought can 
occupy you so out of accord with this peaceful 
scene.” 

“ My thoughts had flown far away, I confess,” 
was the reply. “ I was a girl once more on the old 
plantation, and as you spoke a picture of our Sun- 
day-school there, in the olden time, rose up before 
me. Father was superintendent, and I and my sis- 
ters and brothers were teachers ; and all the negroes, 
old and young, were glad and eager to come. How 
happy we were, both white and black ! Such genu- 

( 181 ) 


182 


The Do Society.’ 


ine afiectiou existed b'etween us. Father was re- 
vered as a patriarch, and as such beloved and es- 
teemed by all.” 

“ Do you know what turned your thoughts into 
that channel?” 

“Yes; I was thinking of our new church, and 
regretting that there was no provision made to ac- 
commodate the colored people, and wishing that 
they worshiped with us now as they did in the good 
old ante-helium times.” 

“You remember the galleries around the three 
sides of the city churches and half of every build- 
ing in the country were devoted to their use. It 
was long before I became accustomed to the loss of 
their hearty ‘Amen,’ and the swell of their voices 
in the singing.” 

“ I w’onder if we shall ever reunite.” 

“I am sure I cannot tell. At present there 
seems no prospect for it. If we had thought they 
would come, very gladly W’e should have made ar- 
rangements for them in our new church; but w’e 
have no reason to suppose they w’ould. They have 
their own organizations, buildings, and ministers, 
and prefer to worship apart and be altogether dis- 
tinct.” 

“But think, husband, how ignorant these minis- 
ters generally are. Knowing them as we do, it 
does seem in many cases an illustration of the 
blind leading the blind.” 


Dedication of Ebenezer Church. 183 


“ That is unfortunately too true. It is a ques- 
tion that demands much thought and skill in any 
effort to elucidate it, and it should be considered. 
I am glad that our own Church and others seem 
to be arousing to their responsibility in the mat- 
ter, and are attempting the education of their min- 
istry.” 

“ I suppose that is the most practicable way, after 
all, to teach their congregations,” assented Mrs. 
Lester. Then, as her eyes turned to the avenue, 
she addetl : “ It is quite time the children were re- 
turning from the post-office. I wonder what de- 
tains them.” 

“ I can tell you, mamma! ” exclaimed Lucy; “or 
rather, I can guess. Harry promised Rosy to get a 
whole lot of autumn-leaves for her this afternoon, 
and I suspect that is why they are late.” 

“Here they come now,” said her father; “and 
sure enough, Lucy, they have, a ‘ whole lot ’ of 
leaves.” 

“What is the matter with Rosy?” asked Mrs. 
Lester. “She is delighted about something: only 
see how she is waving a letter over her head, and 
she leaps out of the buggy and rushes up to the 
house as if she were wild I ” 

Their curiosity was soon satisfied, for before she 
reached them, and panting from her run to the 
house, Rosy began :“ O mamma! Opapa! Such 
good news! A letter from dear Annie! She has 


184 


The Do Society.’ 


made us a present of an Estey organ for our new 
church, and a communion-service. They are 
shipped, and will be here in a few days. Isn’t it 
too delightful? Annie read my letter to her fa- 
ther, and he asked her if she would like to help 
us in any way. When she asked for the organ he 
suggested the communion-service also. The very 
things we wanted and could not afford to buy. 
Mamma, you can play for us, and our music will 
be so much better.” 

Kosy stopped from sheer breathlessness. Her 
auditors expressed their sympathy in her delight, 
and her father inquired if a letter had come from 
Dr. Morton. 

“Yes, sir. Harry and I know his handwriting; 
so, although it was directed to you, we opened and 
read it. He can come on the second Sunday to 
dedicate our church.” 

So the new “church” wa* ready for dedication. 
The summer was past, 'and although the harvest 
was not ended, yet enough was accomplished for 
the industrious workers to know that it would be 
exceptionally abundant. All who had subscribed 
to the building had scrupulously devoted their 
“first-fruits” to that object. So the money had 
been raised, the church completed, and without the 
encumbrance of any debt was now' ready to be ded- 
icated to the w'orship of Gk)d. 

The “ church patch ” of cotton, w’hich represented 


Dedication op Ebenezer Church. 185 


the industry of the young Lesters and a few of their 
friends, had yielded beyond their most sanguine ex- 
pectations, while every child in the community had 
contributed some amount obtained by personal 
effort. 

The name of the church had been considered. 
Several titles were under discussion, when Rosy 
whispered to her father: “ Would not Ebenezer be 
appropriate? You know ‘hitherto hath the Lord 
helped Us.’ ” 

“ Most appropriate, my daughter,” was the reply. 
And the suggestion was promptly and unanimously 
adopted. 

The appointed day arrived — 

So cool, so calm, so bright; 

Bridal of earth and sky. 

Flocking in for many miles around came a good- 
ly comj^any. Some were drawn by curiosity alone, 
but many with the sincere desire to join in the 
worship of the day. A fair structure was that un- 
pretentious building in the eyes of all, but especial- 
ly of those who had labored so diligently to place it 
there. The grass was still green around it; the 
limpid water of the spring welled forth as free and 
fresh as before the solitude was invaded by the 
band of workmen, whose saws and hammers had late- 
ly awakened the echoes there ; but the verdure of the 
forest had changed, and in its place were the varie- 
gated hues of autumn. And now the grove was 


186 


The Do Society.” 


dotted thickly with vehicles of every description, 
and old and young came trooping into the house of 
God. The Sunday-school exercises opened at nine 
o’clock. Little change was there from the methods 
observed in the old kitchen for almost a year past. 
More room for the classes, a joyous, satisfied feeling 
of having obtained a home at last, and an intense en- 
joyment of the music of the new organ, and the help 
it gave to their singing, were tbe chief features, un- 
til Dr. Morton gave them a short congratula.tory 
talk. 

He knew the small beginning from w’hence they 
had sprung ; he knew of the little gatherings under 
the shady elm-tree, and he knew that the germ was 
brought eighteen months before, in a converted 
child’s heart, from the revival wdiere he had la- 
bored, and he thanked God, and took courage to 
go on sowing seed beside all w^aters, not knowing of 
the tiniest plant “ whereunto it might grow.” 

“ I am glad you have named your church Eben- 
ezer” said Dr. Morton. “ ‘ Hitherto hath the Lord 
helped you,’ and henceforth you may still depend 
on his aid; henceforth, as hitherto, working with 
him and following where he leads. Do not con- 
sider, my dear young people, that you can now fold 
your hands at ease and rest from the most praise- 
W'orthy labors in wLich you have been engaged. So 
far from that, I beg you to consider the possession 
of your new church-building as a vantage-ground 


Dedication of Ebenezee Cnuncii. 187 


for new and enlarged attempts, a base of opera- 
tions far-reacbing in their scope, and designed to 
honor God and do good to man, to benefit your- 
selves and others. You need a Sunday-school li- 
brary. You should promptly organize a missionary 
society, for in seeking to extend God’s cause in the 
world you bring rich blessings into your own 
hearts. But I will not enlarge. Step by step I 
am sure you will continue to walk in the right way, 
being encouraged by the happy experience of to- 
day in knowing what rewards are enjoyed by those 
who make earnest efforts to do their best.” 

When Dr. Morton ascended the steps of the pulpit 
for the eleven o’clock service, the church was crowd- 
ed. He read about the dedication of the temple of 
Solomon, and dwelt upon the magnificence and 
solemnity of the occasion; then alluded to the 
contrast of the simple worship in which they were 
engaged. 

“We have here,” he said, “no costly cedars of 
Lebanon; no skillfully graven stones, whose di- 
mensions are the pride and wonder of beholders; 
no lofty porches, with pillars overlaid with gold; 
no cherubim, with outstretched and overshadowing 
wings, wrought by the hands of cunning workmen ; 
no garnishment of precious stones; no veil of fine 
linen, of blue and purple and crimson dye; no ves- 
sels of gold ; no brazen sea ; no priests, with costly 
vesture of ephod and miter and girdle, of jeweled 


188 


The Do Society.' 


and engraven breastplate ; no thousand — yea, tens of 
tliousands — of sacrificial sheep and oxen. Thank 
God, ^ve do not need them! Why? Because we 
have a ‘new and living way.’ The shadow is gone; 
we have the substance. The type is past; we have 
the blessed reality. Behold! a greater than Solo- 
mon is here to-day, and ‘ in this place is one greater 
than the temple.’ 

“No longer as an emblem need flow the blood of 
bulls and of goats ; for Christ, the heavenly Lamb, 
the Saviour, slain and ascended, whom we wor- 
ship, is 

A sacrifice of nobler name 
And richer blood than they. 

No longer need a human priest once a year make 
intercession for our sins as well as his own, for we 
have ‘a great High-priest, that is passed into the 
heavens, holy, harmless, and iindefiled, who is 
touched with the feeling of our infirmities, and has 
been tempted in all points like as we are.’ 

“That great temple at Jerusalem has long since 
been destroyed, rebuilt, and again destroyed. All 
trace of the pomp and ceremony of its imposing 
ritual has vanished from the face of the earth. In 
humbler structures God is often pleased to let ‘his 
glory fill the house,’ and accept the offering of 
prayer and praise which ascends from within their 
courts. 

“ But there is another temple, which is his most 


Dedication of Ebenezer Church. 189 


especial fane; there he most loves to dwell, and 
to be worshiped in spirit and in truth. ‘What! 
know ye not that your body is the temple of the 
Holy Ghost which is in you ? ’ My friends, listen to 
this most solemn warning: ‘If any man defile the 
temple of God, him shall God destroy; for the tem- 
ple of God is holy, which temple ye are.’ 

“ What defileth this human temple? Jesus enu- 
merates the fatal list, and plainly tells us, ^ These 
are the things which defile a man.’ My brethren, 
let each of us examine himself thereby. Ah! who 
can stand the test? Do we congratulate ourselves 
that we are free from the taint of the grosser crimes? 
Well for us if we can, and let us give God the 
glory. But look again. Have we exhausted the 
list when we say we are innocent of the sins which 
are punished by the law of man? Far from it. He 
who ‘ desireth truth in the inward parts,’ and who 
declares ‘as a man thinketh in his heart so is he,’ 
classes evil thoughts, covetousness, deceit, pride, and 
foolishness with the other ‘evil things that come 
from within.’ 

“ How is it now? Doth not conscience condemn ? 
Who among us can cast the first stone? Now, 
wherewithal shall we be cleansed? What sacri- 
fices for our sin will God accept? Let us be thank- 
ful that in the book of his law it is written: ‘The 
sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and 
a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.’ 


190 


*‘The Do Society/ 


“And now, with penitence and confession, with 
gratitude and fervent love, remembering that our 
High-priest, now within the veil, ever ‘liveth to 
make intercession ’ for us, ‘ let us draw near with a 
true heart in full assurance of faith,’ and seek to 
rededicate these living temples to the service of our 
great King. This comely building we consecrate 
to-day will, in a few short yeai-s, be crumbled into 
dust; but these human temples, though for awhile 
they may be severed from the ‘ vital spark ’ within, 
and be sown in dishonor, weakness, and mortality, 
shall arise to glory, power, and eternal life, and 
adorn the city of God — the heavenly Jerusalem.” 

Then was that dear old familiar hymn of praise 
and prayer, “ Come, thou Fount of every blessing,” 
sung with the spirit and the understanding; till, as 
the volume of sound swelled the closing lines into a 
holy abandonment of consecration, 

Here’s my heart, O take and seal it! 

Seal it for thy courts above I 

many felt within the ancient Shekinah, and knew 
that the glory of the Lord was in the place ; that 
he had accepted the offering, and from henceforth 
they could declare from experience, “ This is none 
other but the house of God, and this is the gate of 
heaven.” 

For the first time within those walls the words of 
the apostolic benediction fell like sweet music from 
an unseen world upon ears and hearts attuned to its 


Dedication of Eijenezer Church. 191 


melody: “ The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and 
the love of God, and the communion of the Holy 
Ghost, be with you all. Amen ! ” 

The services were ended. “ Ebenezer,” the “ new 
church,” had been dedicated. The occasion for 
which so many had endured no little self-denial, 
and had literally borne the heat and burden of 
days of toil, was over. 

The faithful band dispersed; but in many souls 
were resolves akin to St. Paul’s, when, forgetting 
the “ things that were behind,” he pressed forward 
to a loftier mark. Aspirations for holy living, for 
usefulness in the Church, for active work in its be- 
half, stirred many hearts, and the full meaning of 
“ Ebenezer,” both “ hitherto and henceforth,” was 
expressed by Mrs. Lester, as on the way home she 
sung in a low voice a couplet from a favorite hymn : 

“We’ll praise him for all that is past. 

And trust him for all that’s to come.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

PASSING UNDER THE SHADOWS. 

A YEAR had passed since Ella Glover had gazed 
with pleasure upon the completed chapel at 
Magnolia Mills. Within that year she had wit- 
nessed a successful Sunday-school in operation there, 
conducted by young Watson and his friends, whose 
intelligence and devotion soon demonstrated the 
fact that they "were fully able to undertake and 
accomplish the duties of the position. 

Ella had faithfully attended to whatsoever her 
hands had found to do during those rolling months. 
As a teacher in the Sunday-school, as an interested 
member of the missionary society, as a visitor and 
nurse wherever sorrow and sickness called, she was 
alike useful and beloved; while at home she 
brought sunshine to a shadowed fireside, and was 
the comfort of her father’s saddened heart; for 
death had once more invaded the old homestead. 
The mother who had taken leave, one by one, of so 
many of her dear ones, had been summoned to join 
them in the land where parting is unknowm. 

To her only surviving son this bereavement was 
a heavy stroke. A most tender tie had existed be- 
tween them always; for the fact that Dr. Glover 
( 192 ) 


Passing Under the Shadows. 193 


had never had another home but that of his mother, 
and that his wife had died when Ella was a baby, 
kept his filial afiection as fresh and strong as it had 
been in his earliest youth. 

The death of her beloved grandmother was El- 
la’s first grief, but for her father’s sake she bore it 
bravely ; and in endeavoring to comfort him, and to 
supply the affectionate ministrations which had al- 
ways been his mother’s special care, she experienced 
that solace which is the reward of self-control and 
self-denial. 

The new year had just begun when this sorrow 
came; and before the buds of spring had opened, 
another shadow fell upon Ella’s life, threatening to 
cast still deeper gloom. Her father had a slight 
attack of paralysis, so slight that for one day only 
did it detain him from his active professional duties; 
but Ella could not be deceived, as she well knew the 
insidious approaches of this direful foe, and felt 
that never again could she be unconscious of the 
evil that, like the sword of Damocles, hung sus- 
pended in dread uncertainty above her head. 

As the weeks merged into months, and her father, 
to all appearance, was as robust as he had ever 
been, Ella hoped that years might pass before a re- 
turn of the awful visitation. Still she did not re- 
lax her watchfulness, but was his inseparable com- 
panion, committing her domestic matters into the 
honest and capable hands of her “mammy,” who^ 
13 


194 


‘‘ The Do Society.’ 


trained during the old regime of “slavery times” 
by her “ole Miss,” was a notable illustration of 
the loyal affection which is still occasionally found, 
and which clings to the fortunes of the former own- 
ers through \yeal or woe as faithfully as did Ruth 
to Naomi, or the true-hearted Scotch to the fallen 
and fugitive Stuarts. 

By day Ella sat with her father, or drove him 
from house to house in obedience to his calls as a 
physician. By night she was not far off, occupying 
an adjoining bed-room, wdth the connecting door 
ajar. 

And so the time passed by, and it was beautiful 
October again ; and as Ella drove with her father 
beneath a perfect sky, and her eye took in field and 
forest, hill, valley, and plain, all aglow with the radi- 
ance of autumn, and as she breathed the exhilarat- 
ing air, she mentally exclaimed with the poet : 

“The world is very beautiful, O God! 

I thank thee that I live.” 

And gratitude filled her heart that her dear father 
was still in good health. 

Upon reaching home Ella found a letter from 
her Cousin Annie, which soon caused her to call 
upon her father to enjoy it with her. 

“ Listen, dear papa, to Annie’s interesting letter. 
She tells me — and it is easy to see how much pleas- 
ure it gives her — that she has actually received a 
short note from her little Chinese namesake, only 


Passing Under the Shadows. 


195 


a few lines, but written by herself, both composition 
and penmanship, which is regarded as a wonderful 
achievement for the length of time she has been 
studying English ; but then, Annie says she is con- 
sidered the brightest child in the mission. She 
also writes me of a visit she has recently had from 
Tommy Miller, the blind boy in whom she is so in- 
terested. She describes him as well grown, and 
much improved in everyway by the advantages he 
has had, while his musical attainments are simply 
wonderful. She writes : ‘ Tommy’s sister accompa- 
nied him, and it was truly gratifying to perceive her 
api^reciation of the interest we felt in her brother, 
and which led papa to persuade them to commit 
him to the care of the kind instructors in the asy- 
lum for the blind. His improvement has far out- 
stripped their expectations. “Miss Annie,” she 
said, “do you know next term he is to have two or 
three music scholars, and in a few years the princi- 
pal told him he thought he might have the posi- 
tion of professor of music in the establishment? 
Only think of Tommy’s earning a good living in 
that way.” But if I was gratified to hear this, El- 
la,’ Annie continues, ‘I was more thankful when 
she said : “ I feel that we have more to love you for. 
Miss Annie, than simply your kindness to Tommy. 
Ho you remember the last time I saw you before he 
went to the asy 1 ujn ? You urged me to go to church, 
and to persuade father to go with me. It was hard 


196 


“ The Do Society.' 


to do, for we slept so late on Sunday morning, and 
at night father would rather smoke his pipe out-of- 
doors than lay it aside and go to preaching. How- 
ever, I persuaded him to go of nights, and after 
a few Sundays we agreed to go regularly, and 
thought it better rest than lying abed so late ; and 
now. Miss Annie, father and I never miss going 
Avhen there is service, unless we are sick. AVe both 
joined the Church last summer when we had the 
protracted meeting. Father says he feels like he 
ought to serve the Lord with all his heart, and 
work for him with all his might, because he lived 
so long in the world without caring for him. lie 
talks to the men in the foundry, and gets them to go 
to church, and they have started a prayer-meeting 
there every AVednesday night.”’ 

“Father,” said Ella, after reading this extract 
from her cousin’s letter, “ is it not interesting to 
trace the good that Annie does ? It seems to me that 
every attempt of hers to do good meets with an 
abundant reward.” 

“ It is an illustration of the law of compensa- 
sition,” was Dr. Glover’s reply. “The dear child 
certainly has been a chosen vessel to do the Lord’s 
work. I do not believe she would have been so 
blessed or such a blessing without the afiiiction 
which has ‘turned to the salvation’ of herself and 
others ‘ through the supply of the spirit of Jesus 
Christ.’” 


Passing Under the Shadows. 


197 


“ The last letter dear grandmother received from 
Aunt Emily contained allusions to several who at- 
tributed their conversion directly to Annie’s influ- 
ence or example. We know that she and uncle 
and Cousin Alice are among that number.” 

Dr. Glover made no answer ; his eyes were fixed 
upon the flickering flames of the wood fire before 
him, for the evening air was chill, and the cheer 
and warmth of a small blaze was pleasant to sight 
and feeling. Presently he spoke, and it was to re- 
peat the last words he had uttered : “ The supply of 
the spirit of Jesus Christ. The inexhaustible suj)- 
ply! My daughter, let your mind rest upon the 
idea. We cannot grasp it. It is infinite. Get the 
book, dear, and read me the context. It is the first 
chapter of Philippians. I am tired, and will go to 
rest early to-night.” 

Ella obeyed him, and as she paused after reading 
the last verse, he said : Go on, and finish the epistle ; 
read slowly.” And with bowed head he sat drink- 
ing in the sweet words of everlasting life. 

As Ella reached the close of the last chapter, and 
read, “ My God shall supply all your needs accord- 
ing to his riches in glory by Jesus Christ,” Dr. Glo- 
ver, with uplifted hands, motioned her to cease. 

** My daughter, remember that promise through- 
out your life, and be not slow to claim it. Where- 
soever, whensoever, whatsoever your need may be, 
only feel it and acknowledge it, and you may 


198 


“The Do Society.” 


claim the supply ‘according to his riches in glory’ 
— a supply that no created intellect can fathom, or 
eternity exhaust. Now let us pray ‘ unto Him that 
is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that 
we ask or think.’” And father and daughter knelt 
in prayer, and enjoyed one of the purest seasons of 
happiness granted to mortals, when 

Friend liolds fellowship with friend. 

And heaven comes down our souls to greet. 

And glory crowns the mercy-seat. 

The solemn “Amen ” was ^aid, and Ella rose 
slowly from her knees; but not so her father. For 
a moment she thought he was still engaged in pri- 
vate prayer, but the next instant a terrible misgiv- 
ing seized her, and raising his head she at once dis- 
covered that the hour she had so long dreaded had 
come. To summon help, to seize the cushions of 
the sofa and place him thereon, to chafe his hands 
and bathe his unconscious face with her tears, was 
all she could do till medical aid arrived. It quick- 
ly came, but Ella knew it could accomplish little ; 
nor did she need the physician’s reluctant assent 
to the fear she still could not forbear framing as a 
query that this stroke was far more serious than 
the former. She knew his life was trembling in the 
balance ; she knew there was probably a weary sea- 
son of waiting and watching before her ; she knew 
she could but hope and pray. Well for her that 
she also knew when her need was sorest, where to 


Passing Under the Shadows. 199 

seek for the “ supply ” of help and comfort that 
could not fail her. 

For days and nights she watched , beside the un- 
conscious form she so tenderly loved, each morning 
hoping that ere the close of day he could speak to 
her once more, each night praying that with the 
next rising sun the clouds of dread apprehension 
might roll away. 

At last the physician in charge, an old and val- 
ued friend, spoke to her with an air of authority : 
“ My dear child, you must certainly go to bed to- 
night. I know you have had no rest since your 
father’s attack. The little snatches of sleep, with 
your head resting on his bed, are not worthy the 
name. I insist upon it as a part of my duty to 
him. You must be able when he rallies to nurse 
him, for no one can supply your place then.” 

She noticed the kindness which prompted him to 
say “when,” instead of “if he rallies,” and f§lt 
grateful to him for it. His good sense and reason 
told her he was right, and with much docility she 
rose to obey him, for indeed her powers of endur- 
ance were well-nigh gone. 

“You will stay with him to-night. Dr. Hast- 
ings?” 

“ Yes, and Mr. Morton will be with me. If there 
is any change I will notify you immediately— change 
for the worse I mean, my dear; for if for the better 
there will still be more need for you to rest, and I 


200 


The Do Society. 


shall not arouse you till you awake of your own 
accord.” 

So saying, he led the trembling girl from the room, 
charging her to go to bed without delay. 

In a chair immediately Avithout the door of the 
sick-room sat her old mammy, her apron thrown 
over her head, and her body sloAvly rocking to and 
fro in a blending of prayer and lamentation, which 
was touching to witness. 

“ Dat’s right, honey,” she said, as she saAV Ella 
leaving the room, and heard Dr. Hastings’s positive 
injunctions to seek rest at once ; “ dat’s right. It’s 
jest wot yer dear farder Avould tell you ef he could 
speak dis minit.” 

“ I know it, mammy ; and that is why I am going 
to bed, because I am sure it would please him for 
me to do it ; and yet, it is so hard to leave him. I 
knoAv he might sink at any time. ” And she paused 
irresolutely, and partly retraced her steps. 

“No, no. Miss Ella!” said the old woman, put- 
ting her arm around her and gently drawing her 
away. “ Come on ; don’t stop to t’ink. Don’t eben 
pray any more to-night. I’m shore you’ve pure 
lib ’pon top o’ pray eber since yer farder been 
sick. Jest go to bed an’ leabe it wid de Lord. 
Plenty folks prayin’ for you right now. Marse 
Rufus ain’t been waitin’ on de sick an’ sufferin’ all 
dese years for nuttin ; ebrybody lub ’im, w’ite and 
black, and ebrybody prayin’ for ’im. De black 


Passing Under the Shadows. 201 


folks holdiii’ meetin’ to-night for ’ini. Don’t you 
hear de singin’? Now ondress honey, an’ mam- 
my’ll go git you some hot tea for to put you to 
sleep quick.” 

Ella stood at the open window, and listened to the 
singing as it rose from the church of the colored 
people, not far from her home. It was very com- 
forting to her to know that they were engaged in a 
special service of prayer for her father. Presently 
the volume of sound ceased, and after a few mo- 
ments of silence the voice of prayer waxed louder 
and louder. She could not hear the words, but 
she did not need to; the fact was sufficient for her, 
and with fast-falling tears she listened to the swell 
and echo of the powerful voice as it rung out on 
the silent night. Then began the singing, loud yet 
monotonous, with occasionally a shrill voice sharp- 
ly distinct above the usual level, yet so mellowed 
by distance as only to enhance the weird beauty of 
the chorus. 

Ella was still listening with a full heart, when 
her old nurse returned. “ W’y, chile, ain’t you 
ashame? W’y ain’t you in bed?” 

" With her old habit of command upon her, she 
pulled down the sash and assisted Ella in her prep- 
arations for the liight so authoritatively that it 
was a positive rest to the weary, lonely girl to re- 
ceive the affectionate scolding and solicitous care 
to which she had been used in all her babyhood. 


202 


The Do Society.' 


It was with the simple trust of a little child that 
she laid her head upon her pillow, and even as her 
mammy was arranging the covering, as she was 
wont to do in the long ago, she fell asleep. 

When Ella awoke the sun was shining brightly. 
Her first thought was that her father was no worse, 
or Dr. Hastings would have called her according to 
his promise ; the next was that she knew not what 
the day would bring forth. Remembering her 
father’s last words of advice, she knelt before she 
left the room to implore the “ supply ” for all her 
needs, for that present hour of trial and suspense, 
and also for all that the uncertain future might 
have in store. 

As she entered the sick-room Dr. Hastings greet- 
ed her with a smile. “ I think our patient is better, 
my dear. Since midnight I have observed several 
indications of an encouraging nature.” 

During the course of the day his improvement 
w’as more marked, until, as night drew on, he was 
able to speak, slowly and indistinctly indeed; but 
Ella’s heart bounded wdth joy as he called her 
name, smiling faintly upon her as he did so. 

His recovery was henceforth steady, and as rapid 
as could be reasonably expected. It was a source 
of deep gratification to Ella to receive, during her 
father’s convalescence, unnumbered proofs of the 
high estimation in which he was held by the com- 
munity. Almost as a unit did they evince the 


Passing Under the Shadows. 


203 


deepest interest and sympathy, the gentlemen call- 
ing frequently and offering their services at any 
time, for day or night ; the ladies vying with each 
other in the tempting dishes that they prepared for 
him. 

Nor did the white population alone pay tribute 
to his worth. Now it was a group of young ne- 
groes who knew him but as “ the doctor,” and yet, 
prompted by gratitude for his ministrations to them 
in their past sickness or distress, came, declaring 
his skill. Again, one by one, gathered those who 
had played with him in his boyhood, and a few old- 
er ones who had formed the humbler part of his 
family in days gone by. To these he was still “ Marse 
Rufus,” and many tales of boyish sport and advent- 
ure could they relate, in wdiich Dr. Glover figured 
conspicuously. Offerings of chickens, of eggs, of 
butter, and of fish were brought by them also ; and 
Ella, with grateful heart, received all graciously, 
admitting them to the coveted interview with her 
patient whenever it was prudent to do so. 

By degrees his speech became natural, his limbs 
supported him more firmly, and all traces of his 
attack faded gradually away. Ella felt that it was 
but a reprieve, and while profoundly grateful for 
• it, her apprehensions for the future could not be 
concealed from those eyes which all her life had 
read her face like an open book. Her father had 
not resumed practice, and it was her greatest pleas- 


204 


The Do Society.’ 


lire to entertain him in every way in her power, by 
reading, music, or conversation. 

One cold mid-winter day Dr. Glover sat in his 
sunny library, evidently in a musing mood. Ella, 
busied with her sewing, was content to sit quietly 
near without interrupting him. Finally he spoke : 
“My dear, lay aside your work, and give me your 
undivided attention. I have that to say to you 
which has caused me some disquietude, and I do 
not wish to have it so. I desire to possess my soul 
in i:)erfect peace; but I cannot while I see you so 
anxious, so laden with care, so apprehensive of what 
the morrow may bring. I know you have sustained 
great shocks for one so young in witnessing my two 
attacks ; but, my dear daughter, it grieves me to see 
you walking under a shadow continually. Your 
fortitude is great, your efforts to conceal your feel- 
ings from me, to entertain and divert me, equally 
so, and it is to relieve you of this immense strain 
upon your nervous system that I now speak to you. 
Don’t interrupt me, dear,” he continued, as Ella 
made an ineffectual effort to do so. “ I cannot fail 
to see the furtive, anxious glances you continually 
bestow upon me, and to know that you live in con- 
stant dread of my being again stricken down. 
Neither do I deny that I am liable to another at- 
tack at any moment; but, my dear child, this is no 
reason for you to live in such constant apprehension. 
I may live for many years in as good health as I 


Passing Under the Shadows. 205 


am in at this moment, or better. Death may pass 
me by, and summon instead the thoughtless and the 
young. A life insurance agent would refuse, doubt- 
less, to grant me a policy, but as Christians the 
probabilities of my early demise should not change 
our mode of life or depress us. My child, you are 
placing yourself outside of the promises, therefore 
they cannot be a comfort or support to you. No- 
where in the Bible is strength promised to-day for 
to-morrow’s need. You know those precious texts; 
lean on them, let them sustain you. Who knows 
you may never be called upon to endure what you 
dread? You may yet precede me to our eternal 
home, for stranger things have happened. And 
now, my daughter, as we are on this subject I 
wish to allude to one other branch of it, and then 
I trust we may both be content to leave it finally 
in God’s hands. I have spoken to you of your 
cause of anxiety, and now I wish to talk with you 
of mine. You dread my sudden death. I am dis- 
quieted when I think of your continued life; your 
life without my protection, my guidance, and coun- 
sel. I am aware you might ask with apparent jus- 
tice why I do not apply to my anxiety the specific I 
have recommended to you — trust in God. I\Iy 
dear, I humbly hope I do leave it with him, and I 
do not think I am careful overmuch in the matter; 
indeed, the very fact of conversing with you about 
it will, I believe, remove all my uneasiness. But 


206 


“The Do Society. 


not longer to dwell upon it, I wish you to tell me, 
my love, what your desires are in regard to your 
future life in case I should be taken from you. 
Do you wish to live with either of your aunts? or 
would you prefer to remain here and obtain a suit- 
able companion both as to age and station ? ” 

Cautiously as Dr. Glover had intentionally led 
up to this point, it was with great difficulty that 
Ella could control her emotion so as to reply ; but 
knowing it would grieve him if she were to give way 
to her feelings, with an efibrt she succeeded, and 
said : “ Dear papa, I am glad you have introduced 
the subject. I never otherwise could have brought 
myself to speak of it to you, and the day may 
come when I might deejdy regret not having done 
so. When you were so ill, and we feared you would 
not recover, I thought that if you left me I should 
like to devote ray life as a medical missionary to 
the work in China.” 

Dr. Glover did not immediately speak. At last 
he said: “When did this idea first occur to you, 
my daughter? ” 

“ Last year, sir, before grandmother was taken 
sick. I became very much interested in the ac- 
counts of the great need for women missionaries in 
China, particularly those versed in medicine. As 
I have studied so much on that subject, I naturally 
thought a great deal about it, but I felt no call or 
inclination to leave my dear grandmother or father.” 


Passing Under the Shadows. 207 


“ My child,” said Dr. Glover, “ I understand you 
perfectly. I believe you are called to the work, 
and I pray God to prolong my life sufficiently to 
direct your studies, and have the honor of preparing 
you, in a great measure, for a career of usefulness, 
such as those who are not familiar with the subject 
little dream of. I have read your little Missionary 
Advocate, and I know the extent of the field and the 
few there are to occupy it. I give you my hearty 
approval and blessing, and I am happy in the 
thought of your selection for your future.” 

“I will not be eligible in regard to my age for 
many years, father.” 

“I know it, dear; and, please God, we will spend 
those years together. For myself, for both of us, 
let us say, ‘All the days of my appointed time 
will I wait till my change come;’ and because the 
time of our change is ‘ appointed,’ we should pa- 
tiently, trustfully, cheerfully live day by day. Re- 
member our little poem: 

Fear not to-morroWj 
Child of the King, 

Trust it with Jesus — 
i}oe the, n^te ihynge f 


CHAPTER XX. 


SAVED BY PERSONAL INFLUENCE. 

HEN Mr. Cooper’s family dispersed the night 



Alt that he related his experience, and offered his 
first sacrifice upon the family altar, his son Al- 
fred went to his room deeply solemnized and im- 
pressed. For some time he paced the floor with 
bowed head, and his thoughts reviewed the recital 
to which he had just listened. Then, pausing at 
the open window, he stood motionless gazing into the 
starry sky. At last he broke forth into a soliloquy : 
“Father thanked God that not a breath of modern 
doubt had sullied the purity of the Bible doctrines 
which had been taught him while a child. Well 
he might, for here is my trouble. I regret now, 
when too late, having read those fatal books. I 
feel their poison pervading my spiritual system, 
and 1 know no antidote. I cannot force myself to 
believe that which I prefer. If I could will it, I 
would gladly exchange positions with that sweet 
child ; give her my health and vigor, and take her 
helplessness with her Christian faith and serenity. 

“Father spoke of her ‘tender little appeals’ 
touching his heart. Bless her dear soul, it is hard 
to resist them. She cannot fathom my difficulty 


( 208 ) 


Saved by Personal Influence. 209 


though, for I would not pain her by acknowledging 
my skepticism. She thinks it is simply indifference 
on my part, and little dreams how often I watch the 
stars out in my hopeless q uestioning. Heigh-ho ! I 
will do what I can to help the matter. I will read 
some works on the ‘ Evidences of Christianity.’ 
Perhaps the arguments there may upset those that 
have taken such fast hold upon me.” 

So, trusting to his human intellect, and with- 
out seeking aid from God. he went to his prayerless 
slumber. But although no petition ascended from 
his heart in his own behalf, yet was his name pre- 
sented before the mercy-seat by each one of his lov- 
ing family that night ; and Annie, in the strong 
simplicity of her child-like faith, urged the prom- 
ise : “Jjf ye shall ash any thing in my name, I will 
do itJ* 


“What are you reading, dear?” asked Mrs. 
Cooper of Annie one evening when the family had 
gathered as usual in her sitting-room. “ You seem 
deeply interested, but I fear using your eyes by 
gas-light will make your head ache. Let me finish 
it for you.” 

“I am just through, mamma; thank you. It 
was very interesting — an account of a life-saving 
station, established on the coast of England by a 
gentleman as a memorial of his daughter who had 
died. It was named for her. Is it not a beautiful 
14 


210 


“The Do Society.” 


idea to perpetuate her name in that way, instead of 
being engraved on a costly marble monument?” 

“ I think it is not only a beautiful but a Chris- 
tian thought. Sweet, indeed, to have her name 
blessed by grateful hearts — kept alive by deeds of 
mercy and of love.” 

“ If it is granted her to know it, how happy she 
must be to witness the good she is, in a manner, in- 
strumental in doing,” said Mrs. Dabney. 

“And how very grateful to hel* father for it,” 
added Annie. 

“ I am sure it must be a great solace to the par- 
ents in their affliction,” remarked Mrs. Cooper. 

“ Let me see the article,” said Mr. Cooper, ex- 
tending his hand for the paper. He made no com- 
ment after reading it; but when he was alone with 
Annie a few days afterward, he said ; “ My little 
pet, your life-saving station idea set me to thinking, 
and the result is this: Would you like to establish 
some beneficent scheme now while you are living, 
dear? God grant ray treasure may be spared to 
me as long as I live; but in any case I do not wish 
to wait until we have both left this world before 
we accomplish good that we could do in our life- 
time. I believe in a man being his own executor 
as much as possible. Then again, my dear, I 
would like to give you your share of my fortune, 
so that you may enjoy disposing of it as you please. 
I will see to the reserving of a sufficient main- 


Saved by Personal Influence. 211 


tenance for you. Now, I will give you time to 
think over it; and when you decide and tell me 
your wishes, we will consider the wisdom and prac- 
ticability of your plan.” 

In the fullness of her grateful surprise Annie was 
about to suggest ideas that instantly occurred to her, 
but her father declined to hear her at that time. 

“ No ! no ! ” he said ; “ I wish you to think over it, 
and consult your mother and sister. After due con- 
sideration I will join the conclave, and lend you the 
aid of my wisdom and experience.” 

Mr. Cooper’s generous offer met with the un- 
qualified approval of the family ; and when Annie 
decided that a home for incurable female invalids 
would most gratify her, the subject was discussed 
exhaustively and unanimously adopted. 

And now Annie’s days were full of a new and 
absorbing interest. Her father procured for her 
books in which benevolent establishments of a sim- 
ilar nature were described, their practical workings 
explained, and the minutest details considered. 
Her brother, to whom architecture possessed a great 
charm, and who was an amateur designer of no 
small merit, entertained her by the hour with his 
plans for interior convenience and exterior orna- 
mentation. Her bright eyes and animated counte- 
nance evinced her great delight, and afforded her 
father, especially, intense gratification. 

The purchase of the land, the final plan and 


212 “The Do Society.” 

specifications of the building, the style and degree 
of finish were all decided upon, and in two months 
from the day when her father first spoke to her about 
it the cprner-stone w^as laid for the Annie Cooper 
Homey Her father wished to call it so, and “the 
majority rules,” said Alfred, decisively, as the vote 
was taken in the family circle. That night, hap- 
pening to be alone with her, the others having gone 
to the weekly prayer-meeting, Alfred said, while 
talking over the important event of the day: “Lit- 
tle sister, I suppose you are as happy to-night as you 
can be, at least until the ‘ Home * is completed and 
occupied by an interesting assortment of invalids.” 

“ There is one thing that will make me happier 
than that, dear brother,” was the reply. 

Alfred knew well what she meant, but he jest- 
ingly continued: “Why, what could make you 
happier than to have the ‘Home’ completed? To 
have two homes? ” 

“ O brother Alfred, you know very well what I 
mean. Dearly as I shall love to help the afflicted, 
with whom I can so well sympathize, still more do 
I long to have my precious brother unite with me 
in my hopes and aspirations for a better world. 
Don’t you remember how papa stressed the ‘ me and 
the now of the gospel ? ’ O if you would only act 
upon that without delay ! ” 

“ My sweet little sister, it is very easy for you to 
talk in this way, but for me to act is altogether a 


Saved by Personal Influence. 213 


different thing. I wish I felt as yofl do ; but I do 
not. I cannot force myself to feel or think or be- 
lieve in any special way.’* 

“Of course you cannot, brother; but have you 
ever asked God to help you ? ” 

“ I cannot say that I have, Annie.** 

“ Brother Alfred, wull you make me a promise?** 
“ Yes, if I can possibly perform it? ” 

“ It is not difficult. When you go to your room 
to-night will you take my Bible and read the 
verses I shall mark for you, and then will you on 
your kneesN^read the fifty-first Psalm? Do this, 
not rapidly, in order to comply wdth your promise, 
but slowly, reverently, and in the spirit of my re- 
quest. But, before you open the Bible, kneel and 
ask God to send his Holy Spirit to enlighten you 
as you read.** 

He could not resist the pleading tone, the affec- 
tionate, imploring look, and answered: “Annie, I 
would do any thing you ask. I promise you I will 
try my best to do this.** 

As he entered his room at bed-time Alfred Coop- 
er felt that a crisis in his life had come. He placed 
Annie’s Bible upon the table, and without making 
a light threw himself in a seat beside the open win- 
dow. As he did so he recalled the night, near 
three months ago, when in his soliloquy he had re- 
solved to read the “Evidences of Christianity,’* 
hoping to find in them an antidote for the skeptical 


214 


The Do Society. 


malaria which he felt was poisoning his life. He 
had kept his resolve, and while his reason admitted 
the truth of many of the arguments, he was con- 
scious that the head could be convinced and the 
heart remain untouched. 

Time passed unconsciously to him in this deep 
reverie. Then he remembered Annie’s words — 
‘‘Ask God to send his Holy Spirit to enlighten 
you” — and he felt there was the secret of it all. 
The entire work was sujDernatural ; it was outside 
the realm of reason — beyond it. His spirit was to 
be operated upon ; therefore the work must be done 
by the Spirit of God. Annie had requested him to 
ask his enlightenment, and he would. 

He knelt in the darkness, with a sense of the 
presence and nearness of God such as he had never 
had before ; then, with a feeling of confidence that 
he should be told what he ought to do, he struck a 
light, and proceeded to find the verses that Annie 
had marked for him. The first one came to him 
forcibly indeed : “ If any man will do his will, he 
shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God, 
or whether I speak of myself.” On this he pon- 
dered long, and his thoughts ran in this channel : 
“ Here is a solvent for all doubts, an absolute cer- 
tainty of knowledge, with one conditon — ‘if any 
man will do his will.’ Now, there is the barrier. 
Granted I am anxious to do his will, how am I to 
find out what it is ? ” He turned to another page, and 


Saved by Personal Influence. 215 


read : “And this is the will of him that sent me, that 
every one that seeth the Son and believeth on him 
may have everlasting life.” His eyes rested on 
this verse awhile, and then he passed on to another : 
“ If we ask any thing according to his will, he hear- 
eth us.” Very near this was another text: “ If we 
confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us 
our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteous- 
ness.” 

Conscience was now thoroughly awake. He had 
discovered what was the will of God in respect to 
him at that time. Surely to confess his sins was 
according to God’s will, and if he asked for their 
forgiveness he had the assurance of him who was 
faithful and just that he would hear and forgive, 
and that thus believing on him he Should have 
everlasting life. To confess his sins! So that was 
what he should do! That was the condition upon 
which his doubts should be removed and the truth 
of God’s doctrine be impressed upon his heart. 
His simJ Memory, unbidden, began to unroll the 
thickly written scroll; back to his boyhood did the 
inscriptions extend. Deeds almost forgotten loomed 
up in awful proportions; for as the light of con- 
viction revealed them, he felt that, although by 
him almost forgotten, they had never been for- 
given. 

Springing from his seat, he paced the floor; and, 
as in supreme moments of physical danger it is de- 


216 


“The Do Society.” 


dared that the events of one’s life can appear in 
panoramic distinctne^, so now one after another of 
his past misdeeds, which in vain he wished undone, 
filed past his mental vision in accusing procession. 
Finally he paused in his walk, arrested by the 
sight of Annie’s still open Bible. Kecollecting that 
one portion of his promise to her was yet unper- 
formed, he turned to the Psalm she had designated, 
and falling upon his knees, as she had requested, 
he began to read it. The first earnest petition sunk 
at once into his heart, and adopting that and each 
succeeding one as his own, he prayed it slowly and 
sincerely through, until at its close he felt that he 
could appropriate the assurance it contained, and 
that the sacrifice he had offered of a broken and 
a contrite heart God had not despised. 

The short summer night was nearly over when 
Alfred Cooper stood once more at his open -window. 
As he watched the darkness disappearing before the 
brightness of the approaching day he felt that the 
cloud of unbelief had vanished from his heart, and 
for him the Sun of righteousness had arisen, with 
healing in his wings. 

And now for two years we have traced the lives 
of the three cousins, who, when almost playfully 
styling themselves “ The Do Society,” little dreamed 
of the good they would accomplish in so short a 
time. 


Saved by Personal Influence. 217 


We leave them in the midst of their plans for 
future usefulness. Why should we attempt to pict- 
ure their completed work? Indeed, would it be 
possible to do so? for do not the endless ramifica- 
tions of personal influence extend in ever-widen- 
ing circles far beyond individual lives or the possi- 
bility of human tracing or imagining? 

Rosy, in her limited sphere of domestic and social 
duties; Annie, to whose physical helplessness so 
many may be indebted fbr help in their sore neces- 
sity; Ella, whose single-hearted devotion to her 
invalid father may be a preparation for a life of 
self-sacrifice and unwearied service for the good of 
the souls and bodies of heathen women — all asked 
with honest intent, “ Lord, what wilt thou have me 
to do?” 

To each the question was answered personally, 
and each may win those words of highest praise, 
“ She hath done what she could.” 

If these imperfect pages shall lead any heart to 
ask with full fervor of consecration the supreme 
question that molded those young lives, then will 
they not have been written in vain, and the prayers 
which have accompanied their progress will be an- 
swered. 


THE END, 


4 


X: 


r 






%■ « 




» 4 • 

W 


- - 




• # 

M * ' 


; •' ' 
• w ' 


..If 


■ 


«% 


-- r 

I T*. * 


. 4’ 




• • 

p 

4 • 


, \ 


I * 
* 





V* 




I' • 


» . ^ 


^r 

r^> 


.w - 

- / 

- .-^1 ^ ' 

# -,. . H- 

. • » ... , - \ , • 

t 

4 ' 

# 

9 1 

• ' • 

4 

« < • 

. • . ^ Mt^- * ' 

* • • » % « 

• - 

#• ^ 

1 

i'.' *-k- , ■ ,' 

f . .» ■* - - 

- k ' ; • • .vS 

t 

• • • tf 

;t . , ! f *> ■ 

' j 1. ^ ; V ^ 

*v . ’ ' i • 

• -#♦ 

! ^ ^ 

1 

• t ; ■'-. . 

4 

* % 1 • 1 4 ‘O * 


^ t ^ 

f. 'i»(4t‘, , . 

.•t ■ 

« 

* 

, ^ 

4 4 . • . 

X < 1 • «* -> 

• 4 , • 

# 

i 

• • 

1 * • 
' ^ 4 

* ^ . 

1 

A 

i ' 

• 

^ T.- ' ' Pi 

^ r. . • 

4- ^ .'- 

r . -f ■ H . ^ ^ 

ry iiJl-'. . ; ■ . • ■'• 

• 

9 • % 

« • « 

1 

• • 

. • • 

•• • * , - 

, , • ' y 

9 

•• « r. 

V ♦ • 

» 

« 

' ' ■ •. 

A* 

• . ’ . »; *"■ 

, • 


4 

• 

• 

* 1 ' • 

• • 

9 

A ♦■ . 

• • . * 

• 


#4 


■ ' <* 

A 

■ *■* s ^ - »•' • ‘a ' 


ii'-' 

* « 

« 

», ,.. ; ,, . -f .• 

% * 

• 

^ • 

• 

9 

• ••.t 4 # < • 'if 

, ,44^ - - * • 

• 

* V 

• » 

\ 

' -IT -^ .- . • ' 


» 

• 

\ 

• 4 

* t 

• ^ . } 

4 

« 

• ^ . 


• 4 • 

• - t • 


» 

w .• 

*. » 

4 

» 

• » 

tf 

4 

» * • • * 

. li , 

# 

• 

♦ ♦ 

i 

4 

• *• * * ♦ 

« 

4 

P 

/ ^ 

\ -4 

* 4# 

*• . 

4 


» 

» 

• 


f 





4 ' 


• . 


• I 


.IKi 


V 


*» « 


^ S* ^ V • 






< • . 


▼« I f ’ ^ 


V 


# 


t 


4 

* / **; 


4 

•> 


I . 

. • >. 




« • 


I ^ 

• 4 f 


» 

-4- 


< 


'to* 

Hi 


I 


f » 

) 

% 




I 


I 








* 




$ 



I 

i' 







4 






4 









f 


r 




» 


# 




I 


I 


# 


« 


J " 



I 






/ 


f 


« 




I 

»V/ . 

« 

j ■ 


» 


I 


4 


t 

4 


I 



\ 


• « 



« 



f 


^ 0 


■ • I 






I 


% 

4 


•*• . 




I « 



« 


4 



I I 






' 


. >. Tf>-' "• 


- - ‘'f f V' .*>[• 4''.:’ »l ^ 


I 


. 5 ' 


• * 




> I. 




^ . 




• i ' 


I . 


• 1 




/ • 


. > "V- 




*> , 


.'VJf 


I , 


• * 







r 

f % 








• t 


% 


T 


t 



1 




< 


' t 

« 


^ * 

y 



f 


I* 

> 




1 




J 












- •! • . r\ :p ' 


fi 




>*: 




» • 


^ . 




'C* 


w-». . ,c- , 4 .^ , # -a • ^r-« 




7 . ‘ V 






.r-.t 


*« % 






sv. 




k 


-K^ 






sc= 




. M ^ ^ W • ^ 






:>-f> 
>>4^ 


V* 


.•?: -^>.V 




t^-, 


lC 




> 


■-f 


•> \. 




■J. 








4;'' 






A 


*-» - 
.s 


» • 


•»- . 


•. f' 


-c^ 










‘i< 






» c 






% t 




vM 


/ 


r.V 




.-4 f 


4 


? . ^ 


/ *jf 

« • w 


Vi'j 






\ 






% 




'^, s 




;V *• 


} 








v!r-rt 




> 


^ . V. 






• 4 . *. j 




'cs 


‘ff: 


/ “/ 


rt-* 


tf^. 


> 


V 




V 


^^'V' 


>>. 




' I •*’ 


•» 


s. 


•'v-> 


f. w .•. 


♦ > 


V. 


•• .-t' 




.r:V 


‘'•s 




I 

\ 


\ 


lA 


\>v 








5 .' 


I 


r» 


56 . 


y* 


V y 


■M > 




«*^ y 












f'-< 


'v'<^'r: 


•3ft 






«•« 


4 ^ ^ 

;“ 4 ^ '.•f 


^ \ 


\‘ 




I 

•V 


N ^ 








•V 


^ A 

> t 


ih 


'. 'j‘ ^ fc 


<i! 


I 

A 


*9 




:V 




«t 


. •# 




i- ■ s 




fZ. 


*> K-.r' 






• I 


h' 


.1 *■. - • ^ t I A ^ • *^l' •' s 

"» • V ’ * j 1 ‘ •“• ..»*'• V ^ ' '. , >- * * ' C^ ^ ^ • 1 - - 

i5u?i6r.'V;.^^^^' • ■' .V v'-^-'-y^. •'/■•••■•- '^W -y 

iVt./^i^-'-.-U\ >*5 *'*'.« ---*'■ ^ --^ ' .--•/> [, ■:,.,r-. '. 

-C - ^ w-^; . 

■V:%'v:- .^' j:; . ;. ,^ - ; • ■ 






; 


T^- ’‘^^ -je^* ’’^'J v' -y ■' 

'7^ '%££ -^v, ‘ • * - -■ •■•." • ■ - 

• 'A I • ' . » I * • 

P'A.."'.-f ;■.'■/ '--s ■ • - 

k, •**_•- ^ * 





V 


. \ 




/ •' 


V. ^ . 








■\ 


/ 

/ - 


•' 4 . 


• / 


tat" ■ ■•' •■- ' •■■ , \ 

’v • • ,•' . '..»♦. ^ 


tat" 

4 '• _ . » u 



' \ 
I 


W 

/ 


1 > 


:• ;*,vV, . .. 






.■ 

A ' ' 

' ■ '■ 

•-f. « , 



/ 


i. 


« 


^ * 









•j. 





\ 


\- 


I ♦. 




» ^ ' 


I 


4 


j 


r 



« 









. • 


















J 


I 





\ 




[ . - 


s*- - 


; • i 
^ . ^ 










t^'-. 










r •* ~ - #- -.. - . .. .t % 

.J? '.V*'- •'■-*;•.?•.: .• 

• A. ■ V ^ ^ 

^ w 1-* ■ '• ■ ’ ' - ^ 

/ ’ .< V ^ r- ' ’ '. ' • 

, .•••»'*• ..-tJ • 


' ^-. * ’• ^u' 

471^ > V* •. . V • 

■V ■- S r ' . , ■ ^ .-•- 


k 3. - *-fr--** 




'S- 

« 


\r 


X' - 




^ 4-/ • , ^ 


J . . r^-7 a • • ^ 

:. — ” - M 

^<-- 


••' --K'- . --t'Y ■ - 

--C ‘ Ilf. II* " 


J ' 




1 



* 



s 



• X 





' . 





■i 


V- 


1 



V 


-> -'. ^ % "s ■- 



4 





-«* 

.*v 


* 



i t 


\ 


\ 

V 




& 

* 

<4 

,r 


sL * 






I 



» 


\ 




I 





>• 





